


Setting Priorities Straight

by ThatFuckerTucker



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), In the Loop (2009) & The Thick of It, The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, fuckwald, satsoufflé
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 129,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatFuckerTucker/pseuds/ThatFuckerTucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm has always been good at multitasking but what happens when a certain dark haired, bossy girl enters his life? Will he be able to deal with his job and a potential relationship or will he fuck it all up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spacesouffles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacesouffles/gifts).



> I know, I know, some of ya must have read this story and I prematurely pulled it out because I wasn't certain I would finish it but I've been re-writing it on my spare time and am almost done! So yeah, also thanks to those who pressured me into writing it and to those who have inquired about it through Tumblr..you guys rock! 
> 
> PS. This is set after the TTOI episode, "Spinners and Losers",

How many hours had he been up? 25? 36? He really couldn’t remember. Hell, he couldn’t even think straight. Thank fucking Jesus or whoever god there was up there that work was over… For now.  He had to admit that he got some perverse pleasure in the way Jamie made fun of Nick. The memory brought a smirk to his lips once again as he walked through the cold streets of London.

Breakfast meeting with Tom was a waste of his time, as he already knew it would be. He could have been sleeping but no; duty called. He crossed the street, not even looking if there were any cars coming his way. Right now, being run over by a fucking truck sounded like a good idea. His stomach grumbled and he quickly walked to the nearest coffee shop. As he opened the door, his Blackberry rang.

“Fucking fuck me.” He mumbled and answered the call. “What!?”

“Malc, we’ve got something going on here… can you come?”

“I’m 49, not fucking decrepit. I can still cum, you know.”

Jamie smothered a laughed and cleared his throat. “I’m fucking serious, yeah?”

“You can’t solve it yourself? I’m a bit busy at the moment.” He said while he was waiting in line to order; his left hand shoved into the pocket of his coat. He pinched the bridge of his nose when he heard Jamie telling Ollie to ‘shut the fuck up’.

Jamie hesitated. “I think I can, yes. But you’ve got to be here in thirty fucking minutes, right? I can’t fucking stand fetus boy and if you’re not here by then I’m going to fucking kill him with that horrendous tie he’s wearing.”

Malcolm sighed. “Great, throw him in a fucking dumpster afterwards.” He pocketed his Blackberry just in time to order. He was starving, sure, he ate at Tom’s place but he was still fucking starving.

Instead of the usual tall skinny guy there was a short woman with her brown hair done in a pony tail, a white buttoned up shirt and brown trousers, for all he could see, since she was really short. He frowned at her and looked behind her, then back at her with an eyebrow raised. “What happened to the fucking cockatoo guy?” She frowned at him and he passed a hand through his quickly graying hair. “You know, brown hair, it was all uppity fucking pointy? Anyways, I want some coffee, black and…” he looked to the left where he could see some pastries and pointed at the croissants. “- and two of those.”

 The woman started preparing the coffee, Clara, her name-tag said. She put the coffee in front of him and then started packing the croissants with a smile on her face. “Yes, well, John found another job elsewhere and-“

“Listen, sweetheart, I don’t care what happened to the lad. I just want my stuff, pay and then fuck off, yeah?” He opened his wallet and took out the correct amount of money to pay without making eye contact with her.

Her smile quickly disappeared and she gaped at him, with her hands on her hips. “Weren’t you taught manners as a kid?” She threw her hands in the air. “Christ, you could benefit from some.”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows at her, impressed that she had the gall to stand up to him and chuckled. “They tried. I picked some.” He smirked, paid and walked to a nearby table besides a window. He put the coffee and croissants on it and took off his coat, perching it on the arm rest, and then he glanced at her. Frankly, he was simply going to walk back to Number 10 but he figured he wanted to actually eat them. Chances were that if he went back there, he would go back to work and not eat anything as it had happened countless of times.

Over the course of his breakfast, as he called it, Malcolm occasionally looked at her, and he knew that she looked at him too, he could feel that much. He could look outside the window, sure, but somehow the sight wasn’t as appealing. What was fucking appealing about a bunch of people going about their daily routine? And anyways, to be honest, he liked how they were looking at each other. She would look at him while he ate and drank his coffee but once he caught her looking she would busy herself with something else. It was quite amusing, if he did say so himself.

The shop quieted down a bit and he could see her cleaning off the counter, then she looked at the clock on the wall and disappeared through a side door only to come out five minutes later with a bag. He looked at her but his Blackberry started vibrating and he let it do that, not bothered with it in the least, for the first time in maybe 24 hours. He started thinking of all the things he had to do for the day and what he had already done that he didn’t noticed he had been staring. He could feel the signs of a headache disappearing slowly and simply focused on that. He had more than enough time to get a headache today.

While Clara was dusting herself off, she once again caught sight of him, still looking at her but not quite. It was almost as if he wasn’t seeing her. _Or perhaps he wasn’t aware he had been staring,_ she thought with a small smile. She walked up to his table and smiled down at him.

“You could always take a picture, it lasts longer.”

He blinked and took a sip of his coffee, trying to not let show how much unsettled he was at the fact that he hadn’t noticed her moving. “I am no photographer, girl… and by the looks of it earlier, it seems like you could have taken one as well.”

She chuckled and shook her head in embarrassment. “I could have, yes, but I’d rather look at the real deal. I mean, seeing those angry eyebrows in action is something else, really.”

He scowled at her, but he wasn’t insulted, really. Just for once he didn’t have a bloody comeback, which was unheard of. Clara smiled at him and started walking towards the door of the shop, agonizingly slow, or was it just that he saw it that way? He was getting old, maybe.   _She’s presumably in her break then_ , he thought. Twisting on his chair, his right arm resting on the arm rest, he raised an eyebrow at her.

“How about I invite you a… croissant?” He shrugged and leaned forward. “And coffee? Or something… else?” He honestly didn’t know what prompted him to do that, so he added. “As an apology for how much of a fucking bastard I’ve been to you, yeah?” He bit the inside of his cheek while he waited for an answer, he looked perfectly cool, not ruffled at all but he was mentally slapping himself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ He gritted his teeth and waited... His Blackberry vibrated and by the rhythm of it, he knew it had to be another text message. He fought the urge to check it, afraid that if he did the girl would disappear from his sight.

She turned around with an unsure smile on her face. “Um, sure…I was just going out to eat… something, really, don’t bother yourself.” She shrugged and turned once again for the door.

“I insist.” He was definitely _not_ going to back down this time and wouldn’t accept a ‘no’ for an answer. “Order whatever you want here. It’s on me.” He gave her a tight lipped smile and she bit her lip.

“Alright, since you so graciously insist.” She walked to his table and took the chair opposite his. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you. First, you act like a dick and next you’re offering to buy me food? You mentioned it was to apologize but all you had to do was say ‘sorry’ and that was it. It would have been okay.”

Sighing , he ripped a piece of the croissant. “It’s been a long and bad day for me… that’s no excuse, I know… and saying ‘sorry’ as you put it won’t make anything okay. I felt I had to remedy it somehow.” He dipped the piece in his coffee and promptly put it in his mouth while making eye contact with her. Her eyes were the richest brown he had ever seen and they were really big eyes. They suited her face. Her nice round face…

“Well, I’m glad this is how you choose to remedy it. Really saves me some money.” She grinned at him.

“Cheeky.” He chuckled. “Were you planning to share my croissant? Because I won’t. I don’t share food with strangers.”

She extended her hand towards his over the table. “Clara Oswald and you are?”

 He shook her hand and marveled at the softness of it and how small it was, he shouldn’t have noticed that. He released her hand and inclined his head towards her. His movements were deliberate, he knew; giving him a little more time to think. Should he tell her his full name? She might recognize his name from somewhere and actually giving her a name… well, who’s to say she wasn’t one of those crazy women who investigated the men they met?  “Malcolm.” He replied.

That’s a name he could actually give that wouldn’t give her any clues. Luckily enough, she didn’t request a last name.

“Nice to meet you. Since we aren’t strangers anymore, I think I can do this.” She extended her hand to his plate and took the remaining croissant. _Take that, Malcolm._ “Thank you!” She happily bit into it while he stared at the space where his croissant once was.

Raising his eyebrows, he gaped at Clara. “I can’t believe you just did that.” He took a bite of his remaining croissant.  “I would’ve bought you one if you were that fucking hungry.” He said while eating his.

“Don’t talk with your mouth open, that’s gross.” She chastised him with a glare. “I could have, yes, but doing this seemed fun. And it was.”She waggled her eyebrows at him. “Your eyebrows nearly disappeared in your hairline.” Why was she teasing him? Well, it was fun to do so, that much was true.

“You’re not my mother.” He sneered at her. His Blackberry started vibrating insistently against his thigh, meaning that it was a phone call and he really needed to get it. He stretched his legs under the table and accidentally kicked Clara.

“Hey!” She yelped in pain.

“Sorry.” He fished it out and looked at the screen. The name ‘Jamie McDonald’ with a picture of said man appeared on the screen. “Do you mind?”

Clara shook her head, massaging her leg under the table. “Not at all.”

He clicked the answer button and put the Blackberry against his ear. “I’m on my way.” He said while sipping his coffee.

“Ah, really!? Why the fuck I don’t believe you?”

  _Ah, so he was mildly irritated._ Malcolm sighed. “You don’t have to believe me. I’m just telling you that I’m on my fucking way.” He replied calmly while looking at Clara. She in turned chuckled and mouthed the world ‘liar’ at him.

“Ha! Why aren’t you raising your voice, you never talk like… like this! Anyways, I’m going to-”

“None of your fucking business, you twat. I’m coming!” he hung up and scratched the back of his neck. “Ugh, fuck me. I need sleep, urgently. And more competent people at work, but obviously they can’t survive a day without me. I’m like their God or some fucking shit.”

“Yes, well… just try to get through this day. It’ll be alright.” Clara said, trying to be sympathetic.

Suddenly, a black car stopped just in front of the window and Jamie got out. He reclined against the car and rang Malcolm again, while watching him through the window. He really thought he was quite visible but the fact that Malcolm didn’t even noticed someone was looking at him alarmed him. _Was he fucking drugged?,_ he thought.

Inside the coffee shop, Malcolm chuckled and shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, if work doesn’t fucking kill me, I will! And if I’m about to die I’ll go out with a blast…opening my fucking stomach and throwing my goddamn intestines at anyone who dares to cross my path.” His Blackberry rang again and Malcolm ignored the call.

“You know, if you need to pick that up, it’s alright really.” She said while giving him a napkin. “You’ve got something on your mouth.”

He took the napkin and cleaned his mouth. “Better?” At her nod, he relaxed. “I tend to make a mess when I eat, it’s really something I-“

_THUMP, THUMP THUMP!_

He looked sideways at the window, only to be met with the angry stare of Jamie.

 “The fuck you’re doing here!?” Malcolm said looking at Jamie with something akin to awe. He hadn’t told him where he was, did he? _Fucking bastard was better than James fucking Bond._ He looked at Clara and noticed her looking at Jamie with a confused look on her face.

“If there’s going to be a fight… do it outside, please.”

He rolled her eyes at her. “Sweetheart, there’s going to be nothing of the sort. I’ll handle this.”

Jamie knocked on the window again and when Malcolm looked at him he started pointing at his phone and then at Malcolm. “Pick. It. Up!”

Malcolm did as he was told and stood up, now face to face with Jamie; the only thing dividing them being the window. “Have you gone fucking mad? What’s next? You’re going to spy me while I take a bloody dump as well?”

“I need you at Number 10, now!” Jamie whispered furiously at his phone. Then his gaze flicked towards Clara and his face changed from his angry countenance to unabashed delight. He waved at Clara and she shyly waved back. “Fuck me sideways and call me Ollie, were you having a fucking date, old man?”

“I will not dignify that with an answer… Wait for me.”  

“No, wait!” Malcolm hung up and while he put his Blackberry on the table, Jamie lightly hit the window with his fist and went back to the car while Malcolm put on his coat.

“Duty fucking calls, yeah? Got to go.” He took another sip of his coffee and stretched. He felt a couple of his bones pop, and he grimaced. _Surely I am not that old._ He stood there for a moment debating on how to say something to her. Maybe say his goodbyes. He doubted that saying, ‘Yeah, we may not see each other but it was a nice chat. I never do that with strangers, bye!’ would be the right thing to say. So without looking at her, he put on his coat and turned around for the door, forgetting his Blackberry on the table.

Clara had little time to think about what to do so she did what came to mind first. She took his phone quickly and made a quick call from it to hers and hung up. She had no time to question why she even did that. To be honest, she didn’t know the answer to that question. “Malcolm, wait!” She stood up quickly and jogged towards him; fortunately he heard her and held the door open for her since he was already outside. “You’re missing something.” She extended the Blackberry towards him and he accepted it gratefully clutching it to his chest like a precious baby.

“Thank you, Clara. I must be fucking exhausted because I never leave my Blackberry lying around, thanks again.” Unsure of what to do, he nodded at her and walked towards the car. His hands inside his pockets while Clara went back to the table they were sitting at to finish her croissant and his coffee, a smile playing on her lips as she saved his phone number.

She looked outside to see if she could see him one last time but the car was already gone.

* * *

 

The ride to Number 10 was awfully quiet and it was fucking awkward if Malcolm was honest with himself. Jamie kept looking at him with a mixture of amusement and, was that happiness? He couldn’t handle having Jamie looking at him as if he knew something Malcolm himself didn’t know. Malcolm had half a mind to punch him in the dick, but he restrained himself. Groaning, he turned to Jamie.

“Get it out of your fucking system before you combust, Jamie.” He said tirelessly.

Jamie grinned and turned to him. “Didn’t know you still dated, it’s fucking surprising. It’s like seeing a fucking unicorn for the first time, next to impossible but I bloody saw it happen!” He put his arm around Malcolm’s shoulders. “My hero. I hope to keep getting some by the time I’m 57.” Jamie gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Malcolm smirked evilly at him and leaned in close. “Oh, but I wasn’t dating. I was simply apologizing for being such a dick to her, you pompous bastard and for your information, you’re just four years younger than me so get that ‘old lad’ bullshit out of your ass.” He hit Jamie’s chest and removed his arm from his shoulders. “And how the fuck did you know where I was, hmm?”

Jamie rubbed at his chest, still grinning. “Lucky guess. I was actually going to your place, but then I started looking through the window and there you were, chatting up some girl. Your face is hard to forget, you know.” He chuckled. “I almost made Frank turn! Which I eventually did, in the next stop of course… the rest, you know.” He sighed and put his hand on Malcolm’s knee, gave it a squeeze and then removed his hand. “Don’t worry, Malc, I’m not fucking making fun of you. I’m actually really happy you’re making an effort and-“

“Stop right there, Jamie.” He started saying seriously.  “This is all very touching, makes me wonder where the fuck you left your cock locked up because this is too much ‘girl talk’ if you must know, but I actually need some fucking time to relax.” He took out his Blackberry and glanced at it. Both messages had been from Jamie. He deleted them and reclined back. “Who fucked up this time? Fetus boy?”

“Yeah.” Jamie quickly changed the subject. “He told his girlfriend some sensible information. In fact, he’s been unconsciously feeding her fucking information and what information has he got from her? None! The guy is fucking useless!”

He rubbed his eyes and planted his hands on both of his cheeks, dragging the skin down. “Fucking fuck me. I would fire him but he does some of the unpleasant shit I have to deal with. He’s a necessary fucking evil.” He groaned and straightened up, looking at Jamie. “Sometimes I fantasize about shoving a pole up his fucking asshole… then in my fantasy world, I hold him up by said pole and fucking smash his bloody face on the motherfucking concrete.”

“I’d take pictures, for sure.” Jamie said and scratched the back of his neck. “We’ve also got to find a new PM. You know, Hugh resigned.”

“There isn’t anyone suitable enough… except maybe my left bullock with a smiley face on it. Pretty sure, Nicola Murray would want in and if not... We'll, cross that bridge when we get to it but she’s obviously less of a fuck up than the other candidates.”

Jamie nodded and pursued his lips. Right then Malcolm’s Blackberry vibrated, Malcolm looked at it and saw that it was a message but from a number he didn’t recognized. He looked at it curiously and opened the message.

_\----_

_Did you know that it’s pretty rude to leave without saying good-bye?_

_-Clara_

\----

He frowned and saved the number, then checked his Blackberry calls and clear enough, there was her name.

\---- 

_Did you also know that it’s rude to use someone’s phone without their consent?_

_-M._

\----

He smirked and held onto his Blackberry a little tighter _. That little dwarf, she’s bloody smart, that one._

Jamie looked at him out of the corner of his eye and saw that Malcolm looked a bit more relaxed, if such thing was possible right now.  He saw his Blackberry light up again under his palm and Malcolm snorted and typed again.

“Who has you all happy? Coffee shop girl?” Malcolm simply raised an eyebrow at him and did not answer. _Let him stew on that!_

The driver pulled up to a stop and they both got out, Malcolm in the front, his shoulders squared and not a single hint of the tiredness he was conveying back in the car was evident. It was something else, seeing him so tired and now, he looked as if he had a good night’s sleep; but Jamie knew that wasn’t true. Many times he had seen this man close to collapsing but since he was a very good liar, that meant he could lie to anyone. But not him, they were something like friends and he knew that Malcolm didn’t have any friends, he had said that often in the office.

Malcolm took the lift and waited for Jamie but he shook his head. “Going elsewhere, mate. Give him a bollocking!” He grinned and left, leaving Malcolm alone in the lift. His Blackberry vibrated again.

\----

_You didn’t tell me what you did for a living. I guess you know what I do for a living and me not knowing isn’t fair._

_-Clara_

\----

He chuckled.

\----

_Life isn’t fair. The quickest you get used to it, the better._

_-M._

\----

He looked at his text and then at the lift’s panel. _Just three floors to go._

\----

_When can I see you again?_

_-M._

\----

_If you want to, of course. Don’t feel pressured._

_-M._

_\----_

His heart was thumping wildly in his chest and if years of shouting haven’t given him a heart attack, the waiting surely will. He seemed to wait for an eternity but finally his Blackberry vibrated right when he reached his destination.

\----

_Not pressured at all. I’ll let you know when I’m free. ;)_

_-Clara_

\----

He smirked but then raised an eyebrow.

\----

_What the fuck does ‘;)’ mean!?_

_-M._

\----

_It’s like a winky face, Malcolm. Welcome to the 21 st century! _

_-Clara_

\----

He scowled down at his Blackberry while he closed the door to his office.

\----

_I’ve been here for a while, sweetheart. I’ll patiently wait for that day… when you’re free, whenever that might be. Just know that you have to at least tell me with five days of anticipation. Talk to you later. ;)_

_-M._

\----

He took off his coat and draped it across his desk. He was going to sit down but then he remembered he had Ollie to talk to. He sighed, went out, and stopped by Sam’s desk. “Sam, do you know where Ollie is?”

“I think I saw him talking to Glenn, he’s around I guess…” then she saw him behind Malcolm, whispering furiously on his phone. “Oh, there he is!”

Malcolm thanked her and stood in front of Ollie with his hands on his hips.

“Y-yeah, I’ll talk to you later … yeah, okay.” He hung up and glanced around, avoiding Malcolm stare.

“Look at you. You’re like a fucking dog who knows he’s done wrong. How do you feel, you fucking idiot? Feeding information to the other party…” He growled, he was close to strangulating him, he knew.

“Malcolm, it isn’t like that, she stole my idea!”

“Yeah, we all both know we can make you look like a fucking traitor if we sack you, yeah? Because that’s what you look like, you useless cunt!” he pointed at Ollie’s chest causing him to take a step back. “No, no.” Malcolm took a step forward. “You take that like a fucking man, Oliver.” He dug his pointy finger again against Ollie’s chest. “Reeder.” And again. “May this be the fucking last time you do that. Last and only chance, you get that?”

“Y-yes, yes. It will be the last time, I swear.” Said Ollie nodding emphatically with his hands in front of him.

Malcolm smiled .“Fuck yeah, it will be. Get to work; we have a lot of crap to clean up. Not yours” He turned around and then looked back at Ollie, with a scowl in place. “At least not yet.”

* * *

 

Clara went back to her job after her brake was over in a daze. What had she gotten herself into!? Really, it wasn’t his doing… _well, that wasn’t true,_ she told herself. Inviting her to have something to eat while he was at the shop was his doing, but what had possessed her to grab his Blackberry, call herself _and_ then text him!? God, she really didn’t know nor did she want to know. Like, ever. She could have obviously said ‘I don’t know when we can see each other again’ or some other nonsense but truth to be told, she wanted to see him because he intrigued her. He wasn’t like all the other men she had encountered here. He didn’t even try to charm her, he was just… himself, she supposed and she wanted to know more of him, that’s all she wanted. Right. She nodded to herself and kept on working. The day was less busy by the time it was four, and consequently, her shift was over. She breathed a sigh of relief as she gave the next girl, Amy, the keys for the doors and the cash register.

“How was uni?” she asked as she dusted herself.

“Some boring old subjects but I need those credits, so!” she shrugged.

Clara laughed. “Yes, I remember when I was in uni, not long ago. I particularly hated my English professor. The class was alright but she was just… I don’t know how to describe her. She was definitely annoying.”

“I know what you mean.” The door to the shop opened and she smiled at Clara. “I’ll just go back to work. Enjoy your night off!” She winked at Clara and went to take the woman’s order.

Amy, she was the new girl, she hadn’t been working with them more than six months but she already liked her. Sometimes they went out to the movies or something equally ‘low maintenance’ as Amy called it.

She went to the staff room to retrieve her stuff and checked her phone. No phone calls, no text messages and no emails. Not even a Facebook notification! This caused her to roll her eyes; she really didn’t know what she was expecting, he seemed like a busy man and really, she looked desperate waiting for a text and if Clara Oswald was anything, it wasn’t _that._

She swung her bag over her shoulder, said her good-byes to Amy and went out to hail a cab. She had been waiting for ten minutes for one and most of those she saw were already full. She started walking; maybe she could hail one as she walked or if she wasn’t lucky, she’ll just walk home.

The sky was quickly turning grey and she now looked desperately for a cab. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening, please don’t rain!” Her first thought was, ‘No, my hair!’, followed closely by, ‘Fuck it.’

A familiar black car stopped besides her with a sudden halt causing her to reach for her bag. Really, it was an instinct she had. Last time a car did that they took all her stuff. It could’ve been worse, she knew. The window was lowered and a man in his mid forties or so stuck out his head. “Careful there, lassie. I’m not going to kidnap you. You need a lift?” It was the guy she saw talking to Malcolm, so she surmised they were friends.

“Yes..?” She started looking up and down the street, looking for a cab. She wasn’t nervous, not at all, but she didn’t felt comfortable talking with this man… whoever he was, Malcolm’s friend or not.

He chuckled. “Well, is your place close by? I’m Jamie, by the way. Malcolm’s mate.”

“Uh, fifteen minutes, tops…” She said dubiously.

“Well, do get in. I don’t have all day.” He opened the door and scooted to the other end of the seat. Once she was inside, he turned to her, a smirk on his lip. “So. Malcolm told me he was a dick to you.”

“Yeah, that’s basically what happened. He was a dick, he apologized and life goes on.” She gave him a small smile.

“Hmm.” He drummed his fingers on his thigh. Never one to beat around the bush, he just went straight to the point. “Do you find him attractive?”

“Pardon?” She was confused by this line of questioning… _Oh, that’s what he was doing! He was going to question me about Malcolm, just great!_ She smirked. Malcolm was handsome, she had to give him that but she wasn’t about to say that to this guy.

“You know what, Jamie? I think that’s none of your business.”

“Ah, so you do find him attractive, interesting.” He grinned at her. “So what do you do for a living?”

“I work at a coffee shop. The one where you saw me with Malcolm.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Did you even go to university? How old are you?”

“I did go to university! I just haven’t been able to find a job so far. Gave a few CV’s here and there but nothing.”

“What did you major in? And how old are you? You didn't answer that.”

“English! I’m 28. I got a master in that… then I traveled for a while… It’s been two years since I’ve been back.” She bit her lip and turned to him. “What does Malcolm do?”

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “He works for a newspaper. I mean, we work for a newspaper. He’s my boss.” He thought that if Malcolm hadn’t told her about his job, then he could as well lie for him. He had to let him know though; plus, it wasn’t like he was lying. It used to be like that back in Glasgow.

“That’s nice. I can see why he’s so busy…” she looked out and saw that they were close. “Just tell your driver to turn to the right, and then he can leave me at the end of the street. I’ll walk from there.”

Jamie relayed the information and stared out of the window while Clara did the same. She fished out her phone and looked at the hour, she would already be five minutes late to call her dad. She talked to him every day; it was something meant to help both of them. They would talk about the good old days, what she did today in her work and then hang up.

The driver turned left and stopped at the end of the street as he had been told and Clara opened the door. “Thanks for the lift, really.”

“No problem.” He smiled at her and she closed the door, walking quickly to her apartment without looking back. Once inside, she closed the door and texted Malcolm.

\----

_Your friend is quite… nosy._

_-Clara_

\----

Was she supposed to relay what transpired just now to him? It wasn’t like Jamie had done something bad… although it was also a way to see if Malcolm sent Jamie for her… but how did he know that information? No, that was simply coincidence, that’s all.

She walked to her bedroom and took off her clothing then got in the shower. A bath would’ve been what she needed but all she wanted was to curl on her sofa, watch the telly and sleep for a while. _I’ll maybe catch up on my reading; I have to finish roughly two books, or was it three?_ She frowned, _reading or the telly? Maybe I should just go to bed, yes, that sounds good._ Clara got out of the shower, dried herself and walked back to her room. Putting on an old t-shirt and hot pants, she laid down in bed and picked up her phone. Sure enough, there was a message.

\----

_What friend?_

_-M._

\----

She rolled her eyes and got more comfortable in bed.

\----

_Jamie, who else?_

_-Clara_

\----

 _Jamie?_ _You know him? How?_

_-M._

\----

_I do know him now. He gave me a lift home. He asked some stuff._

_-Clara_

\----

  _Like what?_

_-M._

\----

_What do I do for a living… how old am I and if I find you attractive. I answered the first two._

_-Clara_

\----

_Ah._

_-M._

\----

_If I may be so bold…. Do you find me attractive? ;)_

_-M._

\----

She chuckled and bit her lip. Why that emoticon and more specifically, that question made her all happy? She had the distinct need to squeal like an idiot so she calmed herself and answered.

\---- 

_Of course. ;)_

_-Clara_

\----

Malcolm was currently sitting on the edge of his desk, reading her text message; the report he was supposed to be reading was clutched in his left hand, resting on his thigh. He wasn’t vain or anything but he knew that he had some assets. What she saw in him, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to argue about his looks with such a beautiful lady.

\----

_Good to know. I just hope you don’t have any daddy issues._

_-M._

\----

_I really don’t. I have a healthy and stable relationship with my father, thank you very much. It’s not like you’re 60 or something._

_-Clara_

\----

_49, actually._

_-M._

\----

She gulped. Well, sometimes you found friends attractive, she knew that. Maybe all that could be between them was just a nice friendship. _Age gaps had never killed anybody_ , she thought.

\----

_Not bad. 28._

_-Clara_

\----

_Hmm. Yes, not bad at all… I really have to go now. Will talk to you tomorrow, if I’m not busy. Or later on tonight. Do you think you’ll be up at 11?_

_-M._

\----

_Not really, I’d be sleeping by then… But you can certainly give it a try. Don’t worry about waking me up, really._

_-Clara_

_\----_

_Lucky you. I’ll contact you later._ _Good night, just in case._

_-M._

\----

_Good night. Don’t work too much :)_

_-Clara_

\----

_I’m afraid that’s going to be impossible._

_-M._

\----

With that last message, Clara laid on her back and stared at the ceiling. _Maybe if I did sleep now, I can be awake when he texts me._ She turned on her side but then her phone rang. With a groan, she picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Clara, love, you forgot to call! I was getting worried.” _Oh, dad._

“Oh, sorry, dad! I forgot. I’m just tired, that’s all. I was actually about to take a nap.” She yawned to make her tiredness seem more realistic.

“My, my, what did you do today? Making coffees can’t be that tiring.” He teased her.

“Ha ha, it really isn’t. Just that I thought of taking a nap, that’s all. And before you ask, no, I am not going out tonight for a party or something.” With a roll of her eyes, she started chewing her lip.

He coughed. “Well, you should…don’t lock yourself up there, okay? You aren’t still sad over that Italian guy, are you?”

“I’m really not. It’s been almost three years, dad. I just don’t want to date at the moment, okay?”

“Okay…” She could hear the voice of his wife through the phone and she grimaced. Clara really didn’t like her; she was a horrendous woman who unfortunately had her dad wrapped around her disgusting fat fingers. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? I love you.”

She frowned, they rarely said that to each other, only when they needed to hear it or say it. Maybe it was him who needed to hear that more than her. She smiled sadly; if her mother had been alive, life would have been so different. “I love you too, dad. Take care, okay? See ya!” Hanging up, she curled up on her side and waited for sleep to claim her.

* * *

 

Back at Number 10, it was already 11:15 p.m. and he hadn’t texted Clara. She’d been in and out of his mind throughout the day and that made him feel like a fucking teenager. It had been a long time since he spared any thought to any woman, he might as well say he was married to his job. That was technically true on so many levels that all he had to do was take some clothes from his place and move permanently to his office. He liked his job, he really did, but sometimes he felt consumed by it as if that was the only thing he had to do in his life until the day he died. He got into this business thinking that maybe he could do a good to his country but alas, those hopes were quickly squashed when he faced the reality of it all. It was either be a fucking predator or get fucking eaten by the experts.

He quickly learned the way of manipulation and learned to enjoy them. He had morals; that much was true but sometimes he had to discard them in favour of getting his job done. Worst of all, he didn’t even think twice. But at least, he wasn’t a complete twat. For example, in regard to the “common people” as Hugh used to call them, well, he was damn good to them because he knew that they were just trying to survive in this world and he more than anyone knew how fucking hard that was. He had to take jobs he didn’t want to just to have something to eat and then climb his way through the bloody social ladder to get to where he was now. Life was exhausting and the pleasures he had had in it could be counted in one hand; which brought him back to Clara _. Do I text her or not? Should I even be texting her? She must have a boyfriend or something…_ He sighed and put his head in his hands.  _Just do it, Malcolm!_ He breathed in and out and took his beloved Blackberry from his desk. He checked his text messages and unsurprisingly enough, Clara was the only person he had texted. He was more of a vocal person, texting was something he did when he was busy doing something else; like shouting at people. He wrote a message and hit send, now the ball was in her court as they said; and waited although he wouldn’t admit that.

 7 minutes had passed and she still hasn’t answered, not that he kept count, of course. The clock just happened to be in front of his fucking face and he could hardly _not_ notice that, now, could he? Sighing he took off his tie and laid it carefully on his desk, then opened the top three buttons of his shirt. There was a knock on the door and Jamie walked in, with two steaming cups of coffee.

“I hope that coffee isn’t from downstairs. I’d rather drink my own fucking piss.”

“It fucking isn’t, I made it myself. Yesterday I brought a coffee machine here, for my own use, so I prepared it all and decided to bring you some.” He said while he set the cups on the coffee table, between the two comfy chairs. “I’m not going to bring it to you. I’m not your fucking maid.”

Malcolm chuckled and stood up, picking his phone, he checked the hour once again. _11:30 already,_ he sighed and put it in his pocket. Picking up his coffee, he sat in the vacant chair and crossed his legs. “You want to talk.” It wasn’t a question, that much could be garnered from his tone, it was a fact.

“Yes and no. I’ll talk if you want to.” He sipped at his coffee silently and looked ahead.

“Hmm.” Malcolm did the same. “The coffee is… acceptable. Better than the piss poor excuse of coffee we get downstairs, of course.”

“Talking about coffee…”

“No.”

His tone was serious and there was definitely something you didn’t do and that was definitely _not_ anger Malcolm Tucker. First came that serious tone and the next thing you knew, you were being bullied within an inch of your life; Jamie knew that from years of experience but still, his behaviour troubled him greatly, although he wouldn’t admit that. In these cases, silence was the best policy, so he stayed silent and sipped his coffee as quietly as he could.

Minutes passed and Malcolm didn’t talk. Jamie looked at him out of the corner of his eye, trying to decipher his mood. He didn’t have to wait long because Malcolm put his now finished coffee aside and reclined back.

“I think she’s not going to text me. I might have gone a little fast… but I’m just offering my fucking friendship, of course. But what if she’s disgusted and doesn’t want to be friends with an old man like me? I’d understand because sometimes I’d rather fuck a hairy donkey than look myself in the mirror and hell, I haven’t done that in a while. Looking at the mirror, I mean.” He glared at Jamie and then looked down at his hands. “Of course, nothing much has changed about my appearance, it could be worse, all things considered.” He reclined his head back and his hands were laced over his lap. He looked defeated, add to that the lack of sleep and it was no wonder he was troubling himself with trivial matters such as not having his texts answered.

“You know, mate. I think you need to fucking sleep. Let’s call it a night, yeah?” He threw his cup in the bin and then Malcolm’s. “Let’s go.”

“But the work-“

“Can wait.” Jamie finished for him.

Malcolm put his tie in the pocket of his coat and went for the door and leaned on it as he composed a text for Clara while Jamie gathered his suit case, he didn’t even put on a fight, mainly because it was true and he really wanted to sleep. Jamie could say whatever he wanted but sometimes he _really_ was Malcolm’s personal maid.

* * *

 

 Clara rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position, but she had no success so far. She groaned, she also had to pee now. She sat on her bed, stretched her arms over her head and her eyes went straight to her phone, which had a blue light blinking on it. She made a grab for it and opened the message… which resulted in being two messages, both from Malcolm. She opened the first one which was sent at 11:15.

\----

_Are you awake? I know it’s awfully late. The job had me cooped up for a while. Well, I’m still fucking working…_

_-M._

\----

She smiled and read the second one.

\----

_Have you changed your mind?_

_-M._

_11:47p.m._

\----

She frowned and sleepily wrote a reply.

\----

_I am awake now. Changed my mind about what?_

_-Clara_.

\----

While she waited for a reply, she went to the loo then to the kitchen to have something to drink. Back in bed, she curled up on her side with her phone under her pillow.

The phone buzzed once again, roughly 20 minutes later and she read it with one eye open.

\----

_Never mind that. I hope I didn’t wake you up._

_-M._

\----

Clara wanted to press the issue she really did but she didn’t know how he would react to that. What if he was like those men who closed up when being questioned? Well, only one way to find out.

\----

_You didn’t. Answer my question, please._

_-Clara._

\----

 _Thought you had changed your mind about talking to me… It made sense at the time that thought crossed my mind. Clearly now I can see that was a fucking stupid thought._ _Just got home, sorry for the delay._

_-M._

_\----_

_Ah, well, no. I was just asleep, sorry. It’s midnight, you know._

_-Clara_

\----

_No shit, Sherlock! I am aware of that fact; what’s your point?_

_-M._

\----

_My point is that you need to go to bed and I’m really falling asleep as of now._

_-Clara_

\----

He laid in his bed, with an old black long sleeved shirt and sweatpants, he hadn’t even bothered with throwing the covers over himself this time. Call him a masochist but he liked to be susceptible to the cold as long as he could manage; it was a comforting feeling.

Seeing Clara’s text made him throw the covers over himself and curl on his side.

\----

_I’m already in bed. But if you’re falling asleep, then I guess we should call it a night._

_-M._

\----

She chuckled when she read his message and oddly enough, she couldn’t imagine him going to bed with normal sleeping attire; she imagined him still wearing the suit.

\----

_Do you sleep with your suit on? I really can’t imagine you sleeping with something else, ha ha._

_-Clara_

\----

He hummed, well; he could certainly humour her for a while.

\----

_You’ll have to find out._

_-M._

\----

“Oh Jesus fuck.” said Clara aloud. What do I write!? Hmm, got it!

\----

_Mm, we'll see. Good night, mister._

_-Clara_

\---- 

_Cheeky minx. Good Night._

_-M._

\----

He felt light after that bit of flirting, banter, whatever you could call it, with a tired smile in place, he plugged his charger to his phone and promptly fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just re-read the first chapter and fuck, my writing style has changed a bit haha.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clear some stuff, which were my mistake, the story its set at the end of Spinner and Losers. Tom stays as the PM after Malcolm shut down the antidepressants story. Don’t drink and write, kids and sorry for the inconvenience.

Arriving at DoSac, he had been greeted with silence. Only Terri was there and a very sleepy Glenn. The man these days was a wreck; a day ago he had had a mental breakdown, near fucking hysterics. Malcolm could sympathize but not too much, after all he had not been through a divorce or anything of the like. Glenn could be some days himself, but on others day he just snapped like a twig. _Poor bastard._

 “Wakey wakey! Come on!” Malcolm pounded his fists on the Glenn’s desk. He had gone earlier to work to finish what he had clearly neglected the night before. Malcolm had arrived three hours earlier, since everyone came around 8:00am but today was one of many exceptions he had done while working at Number 10. Those hours wouldn’t be paid, he knew that, but he also knew that he couldn’t stay at his place with his thumbs shoved up his ass; meaning that he just could not stay there doing nothing because involuntarily, his mind always wandered to _her._

He wouldn’t say he was in love, because let’s face it, hardly talking to anyone in a day made you fall in love. Hells no, save that shit for fucking “Twilight” or such nonsense. He was simply… excited about a new friendly prospect, that was all. Someone who was not relationated to his line of work, at all. Someone simple who apparently appreciated his brusque words and his warped sense of humour.

“Stop that for Christ’s sake!” That was Glenn, perfectly awake now.

Malcolm chuckled and leaned on Glenn’s desk. “You slept here again or did you stayed over at Terri’s place, hmm? Wait, no, you don’t fancy Terri… its Robyn, innit?”

“No.” he covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hide a yawn. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“I know everything. I’m Dr. fucking Know.”  He turned to Terri. She was wearing a ‘celibacy’ dress, as he called them. No man in their right mind would ever look there, or at her or anywhere near her vicinity. It was the most horrendous shade of pink he had ever seen; his eyes didn’t bleed because he had already been subjected to too many horrors in his 49 years of existence, but it was a close call. To be honest, she looked like that cunt from that movie he had seen a while ago where the main protagonist had sculpted a fucking lighting on his forehead, what was the title of the movie again? He frowned and ignored the issue. _Not important._

“That’s a nice dress, Terri. Goes along with your pasty white complexion.” He said in a chipper tone as he walked to the office where Jamie had been in to retrieve some folders that were his property. Jamie had taken them to see if they, in any way, could help the stupid sod that was Cliff Lawton.  Once inside, he closed the door and went straight to the small desk. The files were there along with old newspapers. The newest one being from yesterday.  Riffling through it, he found a headline that read: ‘BEN SWAIN: NERVOUS TICK OR IS HE A LYING P****?’ and a picture of his face caught in the middle of blinking, one eye closed and the other open. He read the article and found nothing that could really be useful against them. Although right now Swain was already old news; that however, wouldn’t stop the papers from taking the piss at him.

He looked at the hour on his phone and saw that it was just 5:25 am. _Plenty of time to go back to Number Ten._

He took the folders and went out in search of Glenn who wasn’t in his desk. “Terri, where the fuck is he?”

“He’s in the gents…” she said distractedly while she fixed herself some tea.

“Right.” He was on his way to the gents when he saw Glenn and waved at him to come closer.

“Listen, wonderman, I don’t know why but I’ve got this weird feeling that something’s going to happen. Call my secretary if anything comes up, will you?”

“Yes, yes, sure. I don’t have the phone number of your secretary though…”

“Here.” Malcolm took Glenn’s hand and wrote the phone number there. “Don’t fucking sweat or it’ll go away, yeah? Got to go.”

“Sure.” Glenn said but Malcolm was already on his way to the lift. “Have a.. good day.” He murmured and walked the stairs that led to the fourth floor.

* * *

 

Sitting at his desk in Number 10 with a Redbull in hand, he shuffled through the folders he had gotten from DoSAC but since they just contained information about things he already knew, he put them aside and started reading some of the reports that had been dropped on his desk two days ago. He added little notes on them as he read them; some that said ‘not in this fucking life, you cunt. FIX THIS.’ And ‘this is not a fucking diary, pertinent matters only!’After writing those notes, he signed them and threw them on the floor, one on top of the other. Some were just 7 pages long while the others had far more than seven. He was certain that he could develop a slight curvature in his cervical vertebrae and end up looking like the fucking hunchback of Notre Dame. Malcolm loosened his tie and kept on reading, mindful that he might need glasses in the future, a new set of eyes and quite probably a new brain. There was just so much stupidity you could read before you started wanting to commit suicide.

Roughly four hours later, Sam knocked, opened the door and stuck her head inside his office. “Good morning, Malcolm.”

“Oh, is it? I didn’t notice.”  He rubbed his eyes. “What do you need? Make it quick because I’m fucking busy.” He leaned back on his chair and looked at her. “Give me a few more hours and I’ll drown in all this shit. My mouth taste likes shit, can you believe that?” He took some of the reports and waved them at her. “Can your mouth taste like shit after reading these fucking shits? Monkeys with fucking schizophrenia can write with their dirty fingers smarter things than these middle-aged piss cunt babies.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that. But I was sent to look out for you by a Glenn Cullen. He says that your friend Julius Nicholson is at DoSAC, putting a board in one of the walls.” said Sam. She hadn’t even finished and he was already standing up and straightening his tie.

“What the fuck, why?” he said as he walked towards the door, he wasn’t really angry at Nicholson, hell, he could even put a fucking dartboard and he wouldn’t give a fuck but that gave him some time to leave Number Ten for a while. Sam opened the door wider for him and then followed him out until they got to her desk.

“Mr. Cullen didn’t explain. He just said and I quote, ‘bald eagle wants us to apparently work more closely or some shit.’ “ she said as she handed him his coat.

“Good god, okay. Now I’ll have to walk there…” he rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back. If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’m fucking some llamas in Peru.”

“I’ll direct them to Jamie then.” She smiled at him and he smiled back at her.

“Good girl. Very, very good.”

* * *

 

Taking the lift, he massaged his temples and breathed in and out for a few seconds. He had walked fast in case it was some urgent fuckery –whatever the board thing was about-, plus he wanted to get the coupe on everything that was going on. When he couldn’t be in two places he just called Jamie, which was just as well since Jamie was at Number 10 now.

Getting out of the lift, he could already hear Julius’ voice and he swore he could feel his fucking eardrums swelling. He never liked the man, but mainly, he didn’t like his patronizing voice. It pissed him the fuck off. To him, Julius Nicholson was the physical embodiment of a fucking toothache. He came at you when you least expected it and when you were enjoying yourself, without a fault.

“… that’s why it’s there. You write some idea to make your workplace better or something you need and you stick it there.” His voice drown on and on as everyone looked at him.

 “That was your idea?” Malcolm questioned, with an eyebrow raised; arms crossed over his chest.

“Yes, it was. I think it’s a pretty good way to solidify our relationships and it’s also work related. We need more communication.” _Keep talking like that, you fucking aborted fetus and I might strangle you with your vocal chords._

“Ah, brilliant. It’s almost like we didn’t do that already or am I wrong?” his gaze traveled from Terri, to Glenn, to Ollie, the later who started nodding emphatically.  There were others but he didn’t pay them attention.

He looked back at Julius with a challenging look on his face. “Now, it seems to me that that’s a waste of fucking post-its and wall space.” 

“Oh, yes? What were you or they, going to put there? The wall was empty, for fuck’s sake!” He moved, and the light from above reflected on his bald head, causing it to shine a bit brighter.

“Look at that-“ he pointed at Nicholson’s head. “-your fucking bald head is shining like a bloody cartoon; does that mean you’re having an even _greater_ idea, Nicholson?” his voice was laced with sarcasm and he had a sneer in place. He was close to lose it but he calmed himself down. Just when he thought he was succeeding, Nicholson gave him a look that he knew well. It was the ‘prepare to hear me verbally masturbate myself with my grand ideas’ and he just couldn’t contain himself.

“Before you start verbally wanking yourself…” he walked a bit until he was in front of Julius. “Maybe you should… take that fucking piece of cheap cardboard and shove it up your ass. They’re not in fucking kindergarten where the teachers hang up these shits and tell them to write whatever stupid idea they have!” Spittle flew from his mouth straight into Nicholson’s face causing the other man to take a step back and clean his face with his handkerchief.

How Malcolm wished that Jamie was the one handling this. Malcolm wasn’t the physical type but Jamie would sure as hell punch Julius into next week. He would bet that whoever was attacked by the man would surely die, if not from the attack itself, they would surely die from the panic of  it all; or more likely, move to Canada since no one goes there and thus, escaping Jamie’s wrath. It was a nice thought; he’d like Julius far, far away.

Malcolm smiled at Nicholson. “Tell you what; they’ll use that if they want to. I hope that’s not mandatory… and since you’re here and you pride yourself in apparently having more power than me, you could install these lads a better coffee machine. They need that shit to work or else they’re going to come to work looking old and decrepit like Glenn here.” He pointed at Glenn and smiled apologetically. “No offense, Glenn.” Said man sighed and shrugged.

Nicholson saw that request as what it was; a bargain. “Sounds… fair. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Yeah, see that you do.”’ Malcolm whispered harshly causing Julius to look at him sideways and leave. Of course, not before Ollie slapped his back, causing said man to frown at him and then keep walking. Little did he know that he had a post-it note that read: ‘Biggest Tosser on Earth’ written by Glenn who had taken a post- it note from Terri’s desk, wrote that and then passed it to Ollie while Malcolm was abusing Julius.

“Right.” Malcolm walked and stood where Julius once stood. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Use it if you want to but everything will stay the same. Okay?” he clapped his hands. “Let’s get to work, people!”

While everyone shuffled away, Malcolm walked to Glenn’s desk. “That was very good. You’re going to be my fucking Russian spy here, yeah? Anything that goes on that you think merits my attention, you call me or I’m going to be onto you like a fucking cancer, are we clear?”

“Yes, Malcolm, of course.” Glenn put on his glasses and smirked at Malcolm. “Crystal clear.”

Malcolm nodded at him and walked to Ollie’s desk. “Take your stuff, Ollie. Off we fuck. To Number Ten.” Ollie took his laptop and a couple of folders and followed Malcolm to the lift.

To be honest, Malcolm didn’t know why he took Ollie with him. It was all rather impulsive but he didn’t dwell in that. He’d find use for him soon enough.

“So Malcolm...”

“Shut your fucking pipe hole, Ollie.”

* * *

 

Malcolm turned to walk back to his office, mindful that Jamie and Ollie were following him. Ollie went straight for the comfy chair and propped his feet on the coffee table. “How is it going, Malc?”

“First, get your feet off my fucking furniture and second, the day is as busy as ever for me. Have you come up with more ideas to tell your fucking girlfriend?” He said as he picked up the stacks of reports from the floor and put them on his desk.

“Listen, I’ll fix that okay? That was obviously not going to work. Just like the coalface thing...” Ollie stood up and put his hands in his pockets. “I guess I should, uh go and, you know, do some stuff… around. Do you need something?”

“Yeah, actually. Take these reports to ‘bald eagle one’. I’ve been told he likes to read and you look like you need some exercise for your arms. Look at them!” he said to Jamie. “They look like fucking limp noodles.”

“One would think that jacking off your meat would give you some muscle. At least on your right arm.”  Said Jamie, who then started pumping his hand up and down in front of his crotch while Malcolm laughed.

“Is that why you brought me here?” Ollie said picking up the stack of reports, which were quite heavy and went for the door. “For your information, I don’t even have to jack off since someone else does it for me. Ta fucking ta!” he said imitating Jamie and left.

Jamie stared at the door; then closed it. “That fucking bastard had the last word, fucking asshole. He’s going to pay for that.”

“It was a great comeback, you have to admit that.” He perched himself on the edge of his desk while Jamie looked at his books. “Do me a favour and get me some coffee, please.”

“What, not gonna get coffee yourself? Why not ask Sam?” Jamie looked at him and raised an eyebrow, suddenly realizing from where Malcolm wanted his coffee. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous…”

“Fuck you, I am not!” He started pacing in front of his desk; his right hand scratching his chin. “I just… have a lot of shit to do here. If I leave even for fifteen minutes this entire fucking building may collapse, there will be more fucking deaths than in a Shakespeare play.”

“You know, right now you look more stupid than that fat cunt in ‘The Hangover’ movie. Malcolm Tucker, you cannot be afraid to talk to a woman! She’s barely five feet tall!”

“I am not fucking scared. Malcolm Tucker doesn’t get scared. I am the fucking nightmare of the figures of power here in Britain, for fuck’s sake! No, what I fear is _not knowing_ how to act around her and thus… well, technically, what I fear is lack of information, which isn’t the same thing as fearing her.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever makes you go through the day and sleep at night, love. So, if that’s how it is; text her.” He suggested his hands in his trousers’ pockets as he looked expectantly at Tucker.

Malcolm took out his Blackberry and hesitated. What if she wasn’t a morning person? Would she be up at 10:45? What if he woke her up? Would she think he was being clingy? Annoying? What if sleep had made her think things through? He knew what sleep could do to you. An idea might seem wonderful one day, but once you had a nice sleep and got on with the next day, more often than not, you realized that your idea was fucking crap.

“Stop thinking!” Jamie yelled at him and threw his hands in the air. “Just fucking do it! How hard can it be to write: ‘Morning, I hope you have a great day.’ Or some ruddy shit!?”

“Well, it’s pretty hard! And fuck, how did we got here? I asked you for some coffee; I didn’t asked you to turn into my ‘love life advisor’!” Malcolm glared at him and rounded his desk while Jamie walked towards the door.

“I’m going to get you some coffee. But you owe me, motherfucker.” He pointed at him and opened the door.

“Bite me, you cunt.” He sneered good-naturedly at Jamie and focused on his work once again as Jamie closed the door.

If it wasn't for Jamie, he would've never gone through this charade. He wouldn't have texted her back the night before and he wouldn't have invited her out. He was just lonely and while he could make Clara into a one night-stand, he knew that he would want to see those eyes of her more often - even if that meant staying as friends.

* * *

 

For the first time in the previous 6 months, Clara slept until 11:00. Being a Friday, her shift had changed for the day from her usual 7-4 shift, to a slightly less comfortable one, from 3-9 and it was because Amy was asking for the night off to go out with her boyfriend, Rory. Clara didn’t mind that much because first, the only thing she did on Friday night was occasionally babysit two siblings or stay at her house watching the telly. She wasn’t a party girl anymore; she left that way of living a while back when it became obvious that the only guys she met at parties were as boring as bird-watching. And believe it or not, bird-watching was really, really boring.

At her age, she just wanted to connect with someone who could at least hold an intelligent conversation with her, but most of all, someone whom she could call her friend. Someone she could care for and someone who could do the same in return _. Instead of leaving me stranded in fucking Italy._ She sighed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she prepared breakfast. Daniel was an incredibly sweet man; he had been in his late thirties when they started dating. He always left her stranded somewhere in Italy. First in Rome, then Sicily, next Milan… she could go on and on. They parted ways when she realized he wanted to keep traveling forever and never settle down. They still talked, although barely, but their rupture had hurt her a lot. On the bright side, it gave her some perspective about what she wanted in a relationship, so even though she had to part ways with her lover, she was certain someone better would come, she had to be.

Eating her breakfast, she let her mind wonder. She’d already sent her C.V to some schools far away from London but she was particularly waiting to hear from Coal Hill School and oddly enough, from Oxford University. She sent a C.V to the university thinking that maybe she could have a chance there but then again, maybe not. Clara really wanted to work in the profession she studied instead of serving people for a living.

She showered, dressed and went out for a walk. Her flat was way too uncomfortable with all that silence and even though she had no one to spend the day with, she could at least go out for a bit and enjoy the day.

Taking her phone out of her purse she browsed through her contacts list and came across Malcolm’s name. They haven’t talked on the phone yet but she figured that she wanted to at least hear his voice, or even better, see him, but his job surely wouldn’t allow her to see him, so she sent a text message instead.

\-----

_Are you busy?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Not particularly, no. How are you?_

_-M._

\-----

That was all the answer she needed, sitting down on a bench overlooking a some trees, she rang him.

“Hello.”  His voice sounded like he hadn’t talked in hours, and apparently he knew that because he cleared his throat and she heard a distinct gulping sound. “Sorry, for that. Just finished my coffee, it had gone cold, but still good and, um, hello again.”

“Hi.” answered Clara. _God, what do I say!?_ “Uh, I was walking around and I thought about calling you because well, I thought it’d be nice.”

“It is nice, actually and a tad unexpected. But spontaneous things are good, yeah? As long as it’s not a fucking bomb, you know.” She could hear him shuffling some papers and smiled.

“Yeah, I suppose not… I was wondering… but I know it’s… well, looks like it’s not going to happen today, and well, I don’t think-“

He laughed. “Are you nervous, Clara?”

Christ, the way he said her name did things to her… she closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes… a bit. I don’t like phone calls that much and if I call people it’s just for quick calls… there have been exceptions, of course. This might be an exception and, well-”

“You’re babbling.” He sighed at the end of the line. “I…” she could hear his breath whooshing out of his mouth. “I’m nervous too. I’d rather text or just talk face to face. You are the exception because I normally just shout abuse over the phone. Feels weird as fuck to be having a normal conversation.” She let out a breath of relief and he must have heard it because he chuckled. “There, that made you feel better, didn’t it?”

“Actually it did, I felt like a complete idiot…” There was silence for a bit and she heard him humming some song and moving some papers around. “I was going to ask if I could see you today but you sound real busy.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Been here since five, what hour is it? Shit, 12:40. Fuck. I completely missed lunch. Oh well.”

“So that’s the reason you’re so skinny? How many times had this same thing happened?”

“It’s been happening since before you were born, I’m afraid. It’s actually no big deal. . I’ve always been skinny. Mostly thanks to my genes, not eating when I should, stress and smoking...”

 “Oh, since when do you smoke?” she bit her lip. “I’m sorry if I sound nosy, I just don’t want to grow close to a friend who’s going to die unexpectedly some day of lung cancer.”

He chuckled and she could practically tell he was smiling when he replied. “Relax, I only smoke when I’m under great pressure… listen, I’d really like to keep talking to you but these papers are not going to do themselves. Talk to you again tonight? Say 8, 9 or maybe 10?”

“Yes! Sure, I mean, not at 8, I’ll be working. 10 sounds good because I’ll already be at home.”

“Hmm… very, very good. I’ll talk to you later and be careful out there. Beware of the pervert chavs.” He chuckled and hung up leaving Clara feeling a bit alone.

On her two years absence she had lost most of the friends she had in the area and those she still talked to didn’t exactly welcomed her with open arms. They accepted her or invited her to parties and such but it felt like it was more of an obligation and she didn’t like it that much, after all, no one likes to feel as if their friends no longer cared for them  as they used to ,but to be fair, the blame wasn’t entirely on them. Clara was absolutely horrible at keeping in contact with people and it was no surprise they received her like that.

After her talk with Malcolm she wandered around a bit, took a cab, and went to a few shops, then to Tesco and back to her place. She had exactly one hour to get ready and go to the coffee shop to work. It was a good job, it paid for her expenses, food and rent, so she couldn’t really complain and when she did complain, it was about the damn clients. This work put her in a position where she was not exactly in control and the client was always right even if they were not. It made her blood boil. For such a bossy person, being in that position made her feel out of her depth and if she was honest with herself, it also made her feel downright incompetent. The “posh cunts” as Amy called them –bless her- were the snobbish kind of people who looked down on you just for working on a coffee shop. She hated those with all her might and beyond.

Arriving at the shop, she found the owner, an old nice woman with grey hair, cleaning the tables and decided to help her without being asked.

“Aw, thanks for helping, dearie, but you don’t have to. Your shift starts in ten minutes.”

Clara shrugged. “I like to help, and besides, I wouldn’t be doing much in those ten minutes.” She put the rag down on the table and opened the curtains a little bit, letting more light flood in; giving the shop a cozy atmosphere.

Just then, her phone made a ‘pop’ sound and she got it out of her bag.

\----

_When are you out exactly? Might pay you a visit, depends on how things go here._

_-M._

\-----

Clara smiled down at her phone, unmindful of the knowing look her boss was giving her.

\-----

_9:00. It would be nice if you did visit._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Thanks for the info._

_-M._

\-----

She looked up and found herself having eye contact with her boss and she crossed her arms over her chest, her smile not wavering. “W-what is it?”

“You’ve got that smile, dear. That’s was from a man, wasn’t it? You have a boyfriend, hmm?” Bless old ladies and their thirst for gossip. Try as she might, Clara couldn’t even find it in herself to be at least a tad angry at the woman.

“It’s not like that. That...will not happen. He’s uh, older and a busy man. It wouldn’t work.” She shrugged as if the truth of her words didn’t matter in the slightest to her. “And besides, I just met him. It’s fine to be excited about making new friends, right? I mean, I’m slowly rebuilding my friend network, so that’s good, jolly good. In fact so good that I could… I don’t know, invite them all for a party at my place… granted it’ll consist of Amy and Rory since they’re joined at the hip, John, and you, if you want to come.”

“Oh, I’ll pass, dear. But just for the record, when I was 20 years old, I was in love with a man twice my age, maybe older, I can’t remember, and my most memorable shag was with him. He even caused me a concussion.”

“Oh god, Margaret! Oh god!” Clara covered her eyes trying to block the mental image.

“All I’m trying to say is, that if you have at least the chance to shag him, take it, you won’t regret it. Older men are very experienced and they have a few tricks up their sleeve.” She smiled at Clara and patted her hand. “Now I believe is time to start your shift young lady, and the day has been particularly easy in the morning. It will not be the same in the evening, I bet.”

* * *

 

“Malcolm, just popping in to tell you that Nicola already arrived at DoSac.”

“What, now?” he looked at her with a confused expression. “When was I supposed to know she took the post? Didn’t even fucking got a call. Fuck!” _Fucking Nicholson, leaving me out of the loop, this must be his fucking fault!_

Sam walked to his desk and moved a few of his papers from him; she had left him a note that said just that. “Put it here when you went out so you’d see it but you dumped all of this on top of it. So, it’s your fault.”

He rolled his eyes at her and moved her hands away from his papers. “It’s your fault as well because you’re my fucking secretary. You’re supposed to tell me; not fucking write it on a bloody post-it note.” He ate the rest of his Satsuma and grabbed a few documents to bring with him.”Next time, be verbal about it.” He breezed past her and went on his journey, once again, to DoSAC.

* * *

 

  “Terri, yes? Just want to let you know I’m coming over, yeah? I’m giving you a three minute warning. Do the necessary arrangements to have Nicola in her place.” He said as he got on the lift.

“Okay, Malcolm, consider it done.” He hung up after that. The truth was that he was already in the building; he just wanted to catch them running around like headless-chickens. Little did he know that Terri already knew his game.

“Malcolm will be here in about 25 seconds.” She told Nicola and then left to her desk.

“Oh, shit, shit, shit!” Nicola started wringing her hands. “I’m nervous because, you know, I’ve heard things about him. Bad things.”

“Oh, whatever you’ve heard about him is exaggerated.” Said Glenn, trying to placate her. Ollie picked up on that and continued.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s actually a very nice man. A barrel of laughs, if you will.”

Malcolm arrived and the conversation stopped immediately. “Ah, Nicola Murray, I finally meet you; how are you feeling today with all of this madness?” He gave her a smile while clutching some folders to his chest, his ever present Blackberry in hand.

“Pretty good, actually. It’s a lot of work we’ve got here.”

Malcolm chuckled and kept smiling. “You didn’t think it was going to be fucking easy, did you? You’d be bloody stupid to think that.” His smile froze in place and he directed his gaze to Ollie and Glenn. “You two, fuck off.” They did and Malcolm closed the door. “Right, let’s get to business.”

Putting his folder on Nicola’s desk, he took his journal and looked expectantly at her. “Any online poker addiction, sex with furries or any adultery shit, something incriminating the press might get their hands on that I should know about?”

“Uh, no...?”

He narrowed his gaze at her. “Do I hear a dubious fucking ‘no’?”

“No, no, t-that’s a sure ‘no’.”

“Okay. Do you have any children?”

“Yes, four.”

“Four fucking kids? What the fuck?” he said almost to himself. “Ages?”

“Uh,18, 13, 11 and 5.”

“Eleven, so she’ll be going to a new school in September...”

“I know what you’re thinking and no, Malcolm. She’s going to private school.”

“Do you know how that fucking looks, Nicola?” He started pacing and started moving his hands about to get his point across and paint a better picture for her. “That’s as good as you putting a neon sign at your house saying that public schools are shit. The press is going to be all over you like fucking vultures!” he shouted. “And do you know what would be worse than that? Nothing I can get out of the top of my head because that’s already the worst thing I can imagine. I can already smell the shit they’re going to throw at you and it hasn’t even happened.”

He kept pacing, his hand going instinctively for his chin and his gaze was trained on the carpeted floor. Most of the workload he had for the day was almost done and his shift would be over by 6. Somehow, he was quite anxious of fucking right off to his home, but first he had to pop by the coffee shop, of course... or go to his home first and get a shower and a change of clothes.

“Fucking tell you what.” He pointed at her with his free hand. “You’re going to get a fucking makeover. I hate your fucking dress, the hair and probably the shoes as well, I haven’t seen them but I’m sure they’re what puts the ‘ugly’ in your outfit, I can sense it. But most importantly; think about that school issue. You’ve got until September, after all.” He nodded at her, satisfied with his work and went for the door. “Welcome and have a jolly good day.”

* * *

 

That late evening found Malcolm reclined in his extremely comfortable desk chair, hands behind his head and Jamie sitting in a similar position in one of the comfy chairs with his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Fuck me, I’m bored.”

Malcolm just hummed and ignored Jamie for a bit. Jamie was like a child, if you didn't pay any attention to him he would grab all his crayons and paint all your fucking walls.

“Don’t tell me you’re fucking sleeping or worse, meditating!”

“None of those. I was just ignoring you.” Malcolm smirked and opened his eyes. “Didn’t shout at anyone today, did you?”

“Yeah, yeah, just not as much as I would like to.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s go golfing in the weekend.”

He grimaced. “God, no, Jesus.”

“What, you go with the PM and not with me? Fucking traitor.” Jamie sat straight and glared at Malcolm.

“It’s not that.” Malcolm straightened as well and leaned forward on his desk, locking his gaze with Jamie’s. “I fucking hate golf. What’s the fucking point of hitting a goddamn ball the size of my nuts around and kicking them in holes? That’s just some over-glorified game of getting your dick in the hole, so to speak **.** Now if we were to go for... say, a pint and something that contains greasy food I might agree... or crazy golf. I like that shit.”

“Come home on Sunday. We can have something of the like there; the kids would be thrilled to see Uncle Malcolm.” He took out his Iphone and showed pictures of his kids to Malcolm.

“They grow up fast, don’t they?” Malcolm said as he saw some of the pictures. He was sometimes envious of Jamie and his family because with his busy life, having one was next to impossible. He had been so focused his entire life in making a name for himself that he forgot one of the most important things: family. That was the reason why he had some drawings of his niece and nephew hanging around his office, to feel less alone and to remind himself that even though he had no one to call his wife or anyone to call his son or daughter, that he still had some people out there who did give a flying fuck about him.

“Oh, no. You’ve gone a bit glum there, mate.” Jamie took his phone back and looked at Malcolm, trying to not convey how sorry he felt for the other man. Malcolm wouldn’t like to be looked at with something akin to pity. “Shake it off. It’s ten minutes to six and a major scandal hasn’t fucking blown up so I’d be willing to bet this Friday night will be filled with fucking peace for both of us.”

“I seriously hope so or else I’m going to carve my eyes out with my own fucking pen.” He pointed at Jamie with said pen then put it down. “Look at us, sitting here like a pair of chatting old maids.”

Jamie chuckled. “Well, it was either this or leave you alone to sulk by yourself _or_ sit down there with these bunch of fuck ups moaning about wanting to leave early today.”

“Sounds equally horrible to me.” He checked the clock and five minutes had passed. “Let’s fuck off, shall we?” He said as he started packing some folders and loose papers in his suit case and followed Jamie downstairs to leave.

“Promise you’ll try to come around on Sunday?”

“I’ll try.” He replied as he checked his phone for any emails.

“You better or I’ll be all over you like a desperate hooker.”

 Malcolm snorted and looked at him sideways while they were descending the stairs. “Ha! Anything you’d like me to bring?”

“Just your appetite.” Jamie opened the door that led out of the building and went out first. “Give me a call if anything comes up.”

“Will do.” Malcolm waved at him and walked on the opposite direction. Jamie took the tube but Malcolm came here in his car. He used the tubes most of the time; today being the exception, of course. He had a silver Aston Martin 1989 V8 Vantage model, it was his favourite car ever and he had only acquired it five years ago. It was a classic and it always made him feel like James Bond; not that he would tell that to anyone, of-fucking-course.

The ride back to his flat was as pleasant as ever. There were still people around, clueless tourists and what not. That was life in London, after all. He lived in a rather posh apartment complex with gate security and the like. He hated the place mainly because everyone was so fucking close together and there was no sense of privacy. He had been wanting to buy a house for himself for a while now but logical thinking told him that it was a bad idea.

First off, he was a single man and he didn’t need a big house. Second, it’d be more spacious and it would feel lonelier than his flat and thirdly, he barely spent time in there. He just slept and spent the weekends in his flat.

* * *

 

Having showered and shaved, he debated on what to put on in front of his closet with a towel draped around his waist. Should he wear a long sleeved buttoned up shirt with a cardigan on top? Or just a long sleeved buttoned up shirt with black trousers? He sighed and ended up opting for the first option; light blue shirt and a grey cardigan. Looking at himself in the mirror, he sighed. He actually looked skinnier like this; even more than he did when he wore his suit. _Fuck that, she knows I’m skinny as fuck anyways so why am I bitching about looking skinnier?_

He straightened his shoulders and glared at himself on the mirror. “You’ve got this. You’ve done more stressful stuff than this, you can do it.”

He wasn’t one to always talk to himself, hell, he rarely indulged in that but he was nervous. Sighing, he turned for his nightstand and looked at picture of himself sitting on a sofa holding his nephew when he was 1 year old and another picture of him and his 3 year old niece leaning on him. In both he had brown hair, which was something he didn’t have much of now and that was being optimistic because his hair resembled more salt and pepper than brown and grey. His nephew was now 3 and his niece was 5, they loved to draw and he used to as well, but now with his work he didn’t have much time to draw anything, not even a stick-man. He hadn’t seen them in quite a while. He thought about, bringing them with him to Jamie’s so he grabbed his Iphone and decided to text him.

\-----

_I’ll be there on Sunday if I can bring my niece and nephew._

_-M._

\-----

_Fine, that’s pretty good. I have a swing set –made in wood- that I haven’t built. It’s got fucking swings (of-fucking-course), a slide and some other shit... Can you come tomorrow and help me build it in the backyard?_

_-J_

\-----

_Fuck me. Okay, yes. Ugh! I’d have to drive a fucking hour to get to Barnet. Why the fuck do you live so far away!?_

_-M._

\-----

_A wee bit closer to my fucking motherland, Scotland!_

_-J_

\-----

_You’re still in London, idiot. I’ll be there at 9:00am._

_-M._

\-----

Now the only thing he had to do was call his sister. He was sort of dreading that because he hadn’t been in contact with her for over two months, maybe three. Dialing his sister’s number he rang her and waited for her to pick it up which she did; and pretty fast too.

“Fuck me, have you got your phone attached to your tit!?”

“Malcolm! How are you? It’s been a long time. I thought you had died.”

“If I die, you’ll know because the government will be in fucking shambles. I called to see if I could maybe pick the kids up on Sunday? I’m going over to Jamie’s and he has two kids, nearly the same age as Alec and Lindsay and I thought it’ll give me a possibility to see them as well.”

“Hmm.”

He sighed. “They can stay from Saturday night to Sunday night with me... I’ll drive them to your place?”

“Now, that sounds great, doesn’t it?” he could tell she was smiling and he chuckled.

“Indeed. So, I will be picking them up around 6:00, okay?”

“Alright, they will be actually staying with a baby sitter so I will pay her in advance then. Anything else you need, besides borrowing my children?”

He sat on the bed and passed his free hand through his hair and debated whether or not to tell her about Clara. He figured he needed a female point of view on the whole thing and plunged right in. It wasn't weird because no matter how many time passed, he was still quite tight with his sister. “Actually... I was wondering... I sort of, well, met this woman... she interests me and she finds me attractive... however, well, she’s very, very young.”

“You want my advice on that?”

“Of fucking course, I didn’t just tell you that so you’d now.”

“Get to know her. That’s all I can say because finding someone attractive doesn’t always translates to ‘I want a relationship with you.’ Sometimes it just translates to ‘I want to shag you.’ That simple, Malc. So be careful there.”

“I will and thanks for nothing.”

She chuckled. “You’re welcome, you idiot. Take care.”

“Yeah, same.” He hung up and sighed. Now he had to set up a room for the two trouble makers, buy some food appropriate for kids, entertain them... _Fuck, I didn’t think this through._

He practically had an hour and a half to go over to the coffee shop and visit Clara so he went to the spare room in his flat, put fresh sheets and cleaned a bit. He checked his watch every five minutes, thinking that time would just magically fly if he looked at it.

* * *

 

As Margaret had said, the late shifts were truly the busiest shifts. She had made more coffee than she cared to count, but thankfully Matthew was there to help her with his stupid bowtie and his even stupider floppy hair. He had the sort of boyish charm that teenage girls gushed over, and believe it or not, all of those girls that came into the shop came just to look at him. He was good, the customers liked him and he was fast on his feet but never, ever, ever leave him in charge of the coffee machine. That just calls for disaster.

She had left him in charge of it for a few minutes while she went to the loo and walked on him covered in sugar and coffee beans spilled on the floor. She had forgiven him, of course, but she vowed to herself to never leave the coffee machine to him.

It was almost 9, just 20 minutes to close and Malcolm still hasn’t showed up. In fact, she didn’t even think he would. She started cleaning the counter and getting some of the pastry trays back to the kitchen so they could be out a bit earlier.

“Clara!”

“What?” she yelled back at Matt while she organized the trays in the kitchen.

“Is it okay, if I go out early today? I cleaned the tables and the windows, swept the floor and took out the trash; all you’d have to do is clean the coffee machine and the pastries area.”

Clara sighed. She really couldn’t say no since he had done almost everything and besides, she didn’t need him right now anyways. “Okay, are you here tomorrow?”

He stepped into the kitchen and reclined against a wall. “Nah. I’m free. I think Rose is here tomorrow.”

“Good, good. Well, go!” she ushered him outside the kitchen and he chuckled.

“Hey! Why do you want to get rid of me!?”

“I don’t want to get rid of you, idiot. I’m simply telling you to go; didn’t you asked to go out early?” she asked with her hands on her hips.

“You’re right.” He scratched the back of his head and gave her a smile. “I’ll see you later, then.” He kissed her on the cheek and turned for the door. “Have a good night!”

“You too!”

Once the door of the shop was closed she sighed and massaged her temples. She was tired, had a bit of a headache and she was a bit disappointed as well. What kind of man was Malcolm? A sensible person would have at least called or sent a text to tell her to not expect him. Her trip to the loo was just a cover up to check her phone but there wasn’t any messages and that made her feel like a fucking idiot. Shrugging off those thoughts, she kept cleaning what she had to and tried to not think about the silver haired man that was plaguing her thoughts even when she worked.

* * *

 

 Parking his car, he looked at his Blackberry. He didn’t know if he should text her to let her know he was here or if he could just show up. They didn’t exactly discussed that earlier when he asked when her shift was over. Sighing and a bit nervous, Malcolm got out of his car and put on his coat. Locking the door, he saw a young man on his way out of the coffee shop and he was dressed like Clara had been the day he met her. Malcolm summarized that the guy worked there as well and he jogged towards him.

“Oi, is the coffee shop closed?”

Matt turned around and looked at Malcolm up and down. “Erm, no. It’s still open. It should close in ten minutes.”

Malcolm heaved a sigh of relief, murmured a quick thanks to Matt and went on his way to the shop.

Clara would most likely think he was a piece of shit, of that he was sure, because he should have at least told her that he was indeed coming but he didn’t had much time to think as he opened the door and was assaulted with the sight of Clara bent over another counter that was pressed against a wall doing god knows what.

“I hope this is not how you greet your customers. No wonders this place is always full.” He said as he sat on the edge of a table.

Clara stopped trying to retrieve the scrap of paper that had fallen behind the counter and turned to him. “I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was Matt.”

“Ah, so that ‘ass in the air ‘show was for _Matt_?” he made the name ‘Matt’ sound like a curse and although he was teasing her, he could feel the stupid roots of jealousy making themselves known. _Jealousy?_ He frowned and looked down.

“Actually no, I was just trying to get a scrap of paper that fell behind the counter but I’m not going to retrieve it tonight, it seems… and really it’s not that important.” She gave him a smile and cleaned her hands on a towel.

“Right. Well, uh, I’m here… visiting you as I told you I would… are you still serving?”

“Ah, yes, yes, thanks for visiting, really.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and Malcolm smiled at her. “Oh, don’t do that, don’t smile.”

His smile froze in place and he let out a snort. “What, you don’t like my smile, is that it? Does it make me look evil?”

“No, I like it, that’s why I’m asking you to stop.” She said while glaring at the cash register. “So... Coffee. Black got it.” She started making his coffee practically in autopilot. She really couldn’t look at him when he was releasing all those… sexual fumes or whatever it was he exuded from just standing in the same room as her.

“Make one for yourself as well.” She did just that and he stood up to take them from her hands. “Are you done here?”

“Almost. Just have to clean the coffee machine and lock up. Why?” She quickly cleaned it up; made sure everything was in order and disappeared for a minute to get her bag. Walking towards Malcolm she stood beside him and looked up at him. The height difference wasn’t much since he was sitting once again on top of one of the tables.

“I…” he cleared his throat. “Can you… that is, if you want _and_ can. Can you accompany me to Tesco? I need some food appropriate for kids… they’re coming to visit.”

Clara’s mind was in total panic right now. _Shit, fuck, he has a kid!  Wait...he said kids...Two kids, probably three! Probably a wife too, oh god, oh god, that’s why he’s so busy all the time!_ Then her mind went blank abruptly. _He said that they’re coming to visit._ “Oh, uh, yes, yes, I didn’t know you were a divorced dad with kids.” She laughed but it was an empty laugh. The sort of laugh you make when your parents embarrass you in front of your friends and you’re secretly praying for the Lord of the Underworld, Hades, to open up the crust of the Earth and let you fall in the deepest pits of Hell and burn because that would actually be better than facing your friends… yeah, it was that kind of laugh.

Malcolm frowned and licked his lips. “No, never been married. They’re actually my sister’s kids. I was wondering if you knew anything about infant care since I clearly do not.”

“Oh, yeah.” She clutched her heart and gave a relieved laugh. “Right. Food for kids, yes, of course I can help you.”

“You’re a darling. Come.” He said nodding towards the door and she opened it for him. As he passed her by, she was assaulted with the realization that he was tall. Very, very tall. She bit her lip as she focused on closing the door and not dropping the damn keys. She had a thing for tall men and even more when they had an accent, like he clearly did. That Scottish brogue had her going crazy.

“Right, that’s it.” She turned around and smiled at him. The lights of the street cast shadows over his face and it somehow made him look scarier and less approachable and she told him so.

“Darling, if you only knew.” He chuckled and started leading the way to his car.

“Knew what?” the night was chilly and that was to be expected because it was the second week of January. “It’s a bit chilly.”

“Oh, just that my colleagues think I’m already scary enough during the day. If they fucking saw me at night, with your description, I think they’ll shit themselves.” He laughed and offered Clara her coffee.

She couldn’t help it; she laughed alongside him because his laugh was too contagious and accepted her coffee. “Now, that’s just mean. What do you do to make them fear you?” she sipped her coffee and looked up at him.

“Just the usual.” He looked down at her. “A bit of yelling, which is quite therapeutic, let me tell you.”  He broke eye contact with her to look ahead of them. “A bit of bullying… You know, I wouldn’t be like that if they knew how to fucking do their jobs, sweetheart.” He shrugged and pointed to his car. “There she is.”

Clara looked at the car as they got closer and she looked at him sideways. “It’s a pretty nice car. It has that James Bond vibe. You could pretend to be like… a Scottish James Bond.”

He chuckled and opened the door for her. “Yes, the movie would be called ‘On her Majesty’s Fucking Service.’, yeah?”

“I’d watch that, for sure!” She got in the car; he closed the door for her and rounded the car to get inside.

Shrugging off his coat, Malcolm threw it on the backseat and switched on the engine, then looked at her. Being in a small car; that meant that they were sitting a bit close but just with enough space to not make it uncomfortable. His head almost touched the roof of the car while she looked pretty small besides him and he turned to ask. “How tall are you? Five feet?”

“And two inches.” She replied with a challenging look in her eyes.

“Oi, don’t get your fucking knickers in a twists, I was just asking… that’s erm, adorable, I suppose.” _Adorable? Really, what the fuck!?_ He started driving and smirked but in the inside he was just thinking of ways of jumping out of the car that wouldn’t put Clara in danger. “Who gets things from the top shelf for you?”

She slapped his arm. “I get them myself, thank you very much.”

“Really? Is it not like the fucking Olympics? That’s the kind of imagery I have. You in shorts, sweat running down your face while you climb the shelves.” He gave her a lopsided smile and she couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Shut up, you twat.”

He snorted and stopped teasing her. Malcolm drove for a while and neither talked, they were just comfortable with the silence that surrounded them. Grabbing his coffee, he started drinking it but Clara’s question made him put it down.

“Sorry, what?”

“What’s the newspaper you work for?”

“Newspaper? Where did you get that from?” he parked his car in the parking lot of Tesco and switched off the engine.

“Jamie…” She wore a confused expression on her face; just like Malcolm used to but then he sighed.

“Ah. Yes, newspaper.” He opened the door, got out and Clara did the same. “We’ll talk about that when we, you know, get out of here.” He said pointing to Tesco and led the way.

Clara was silent as she followed him inside and once he found an empty aisle, he grabbed her elbow and directed her towards it. “It’s complicated. I have to think on whether or not to tell you, yeah?” he looked behind her and behind him to see if anyone was nearby. Finding no monkeys in the coast he leaned closed to her, their noses almost touching. He still had a hold on her elbow and subconsciously he started drawing circles on her skin with his thumb. He started speaking quietly. “I do not sell drugs, own a brothel or am part of some fucking human-trafficking ring, yeah? Lots of lying and threats but nothing illegal.”

She nodded while keeping eye contact with him. “Right, yes. So a lawyer then.”

Her breath caressed his face and he glanced down at her lips, unconsciously he licked his and started leaning down slowly, looking at her brown eyes. _What are you doing, you idiot!?_ He moved his head to the side, breaking eye contact with her and reached for a can of soup.

“Yes, this is what I need, yeah.” He stood back awkwardly and turned to Clara who was frozen to the spot and her cheeks were slightly red. _Look at her, you’ve shocked her!_ “I’m sorry I scared you off. I just wanted to reach for this-” he raised the can soup to his face to read what it was. “- tomato soup, yes. I’m… quite a fan of tomato soup.” He hated tomato soup, it reminded him of his sick days when he was a child but she really didn’t need to know that.

“Nah, don’t worry. ” Clara said trying to play it cool. The truth was that she still could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest and she felt too hot. Trying to distract herself from the issue at hand, she looked at him up and down which wasn’t a good way to distract herself from what she thought he was about to do. He looked very nice even though he was dressed like her dad. Her dad looked fatherly-like but Malcolm executed this look so well, that she just wanted to climb him like a tree.

“You look nice. Love the cardigan.” Making a vague comment was the safest thing to do. She doubted that saying: ‘You look very bang-able. Let’s stop at my place so we can shag all night and so hard our brains leak out of our ears.’ would be a nice thing to say.

Malcolm looked at his clothes and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s pretty comfortable, keeps the cold out…thanks. You look pretty nice yourself.”

She looked at her white shirt and pointed at a coffee stain near her waist. “Yeah, sure, this is just work-clothes. To be honest I don’t look good at all right now, but thanks for the effort.”

“It really doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.” He said seriously and held her gaze and his breath. The moment was getting perhaps too intimate and he cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

“Of course, now let’s take some kid food for you. How long are they going to stay with you?”

“Saturday evening to Sunday night, around seven, I guess. We’re going to spend the day somewhere else.” He scratched the back of his head and looked at her.

“Okay, well, let’s go. Grab a trolley while I pick some stuff.”

* * *

 

“Thank you for helping me with that, really. I doubt that water and some crisps were appropriate for kids. My fridge was so empty I could look at my neighbor through it if I fucking wanted to.”

They were reclining on the hood of his car and had been like that for a while, neither wanting to say good-bye and it was almost 10:30pm. He hadn’t told her what he did for a living and he was reluctant to do so. Not because he thought she was a gold-digger or a gossiper that would use the advantage of knowing him to share whatever information she got from him with the media if they continued this; no, he didn’t want to tell her because he didn’t want her to see him any differently. She must have heard of him and while those articles were flawed at best, most of them depicted how he was _at_ work. He also know that he was violating his DFDT (don’t fuck down the tree) rule, which meant that if you were considering a relationship, do it with someone who was above or at your own level. Someone who would be equally fucked if something got out. True, he used that example for affairs but it worked all the same. In times of trouble –like now- he liked to text Jamie.

Taking out his Iphone –which was his personal mobile- , courtesy of Jamie who had helped him get it, he typed a text to said man.

\-----

_Thanks for lying for me, you scumbag. Now she must know that  the newspaper thing its a lie; I gave her reason to doubt that. Do I tell her the truth or refuse to do so?_

_-M._

\-----

Malcolm looked at the sky as he waited for a reply. The night was a bit cold but not enough to bother him and the sky was dark; meaning that he couldn’t see any stars.

“Fucking light-pollution.” He muttered.

Clara chuckled. “Yeah. It doesn’t look like this in the countryside. You can see the stars perfectly.”

He looked down at her but her gaze was fixed on the sky. “Do you prefer the countryside instead of the city?”

“Mhmm.” She nodded and turned to look at him. He was looking at her with such a soft, insecure expression that made him look so vulnerable, it made her want to reach out to him, but she didn’t; they weren’t that close yet.

His mobile made a ‘pop’ sound and she looked towards him. “You got a new mobile?”

He read the message quickly, it basically said: ‘Yes, tell her, don’t be a fucking useless scrotum’. He raised his eyebrows and looked down, then turned to her and bit the inside of his cheek. The streetlamp offered a little light for them to see one another but not too much. “This would be easier if I could clearly see your face.”

“Then let’s get inside my flat.” She suggested as she started getting up.

“No, no.” he grabbed her arm and she sat again, this time closer to him. Their thighs were touching and she could feel the heat from his thigh on hers… or maybe she was just imagining that.  It was quite a heady feeling all the same. Imagination or not.

“Listen… I work for the government. That’s why I have two mobiles. The government gives you one.” He fished his Blackberry from his other pocket and showed it to her. “A bit outdated, but I like it.” He held both in his hands now, which were in front of his crotch while he looked at them. “The Iphone is my personal one. I’ll give you the number to that one if you decide you still want to see me.” He stretched his legs to get his mobiles in his pockets and continued.  “I am the Director of Communications of the government, basically. I work at Number Ten with all the big dumb fishes.”  He looked at her and she was silent but he could tell by her tense posture that she was not sure how to react but he kept talking. “There have been a couple of unflattering articles about me in the newspaper. Have you heard the name Malcolm Tucker?” he raised an eyebrow at her and waited.

 His tone was formal and serious, something that she wasn’t used to hearing from him. Yes, she had heard the name but she hadn’t put a face _to_ the name. She just knew of the name because her father talked and complained about anything that dealt with politics. He was the kind of person who would natter on and on about how the system didn’t work, why the PM was trash and so on. “Yes. I haven’t heard flattering things about you, that’s for sure.”

His bowed his head and pursued his lips. “Well, they’re not wrong about what I am while I’m working. You need to be aggressive, be a dick, bash some head and eat babies for breakfast so they can listen to you.” He released a sigh. “Jamie knows who I am. My family knows who I am and I’m hoping you’d like to know who I am instead of just… leaving because of the image I’ve carved for myself.” He scratched the back of his head and gave her a sad smile. “Although there’s not much to what I am. I’m still a dick, but with some feelings. There’s not much to this old carcass, I’m afraid.”

Clara gulped and stood, he didn’t even try to stop her. He just looked at his hands and played with his fingers. It saddened her that he already looked as if he was already accepting that she apparently didn’t want anything to do with him. She stood in front of him and tilted his chin upwards. “Is okay, really. I just… need to think about it. That’s a lot of information to swallow in just five minutes.”

He nodded and bit his lip. “Okay. So, I’ll guess I’ll fuck off then.”

“Yes, you better fuck off.” She smiled at him and on impulse, kissed his cheek.

“Is it _Auf Wiedersehen_ or _Adios para siempre_?”

 She chuckled. “I’ll be in contact, Malcolm.” She smirked at him and then opened the door that led to the stairs to her flat.

* * *

 

_Oh, shit, Christ on a unicycle, what the fuck!?_ That seemed to be his mantra as he drove from Endell Street to his flat in Fleet Street and he still had that thought as he unpacked everything, showered, dressed and laid in bed. He had received kisses on the cheek before and more, he wasn’t a fucking virgin but this kiss from Clara left him dumbfounded and laying on his bed didn’t made some clarity enter his psyche. Right now, his mind just said _ERROR 404_ and he couldn’t shake himself from that. He plugged his mobiles to their chargers and walked to his living room to switch on the telly in an effort to distract himself from that incident.

He stayed put for about ten minutes until he couldn’t stand it. He switched the telly off and left for his bed in an effort to sleep because he was getting pissed off at himself very quickly. Normally, if he was pissed off he would just lay down and plot revenge, but how could you plot revenge when you were mad at yourself?

His Blackberry vibrated with a text from Clara and he opened it.

\-----

_I’ve thought about what you said and I just want you to know that I really don’t care about the image you have in your work or the social media. They are inconsequential and they don’t matter to me. I’ve been starting to care about you –even thought I haven’t known you for much longer, does that sound weird? It sounds weird to me- and you’ve been such a good friend to me (at the moment- again, does that sounds weird?) that I just can’t let you go like that. In short, I’m very willing to get to know you, Malcolm._

_-Clara_

\-----

He breathed a sigh of relief as he read the text and he suddenly felt exhausted for worrying over nothing. However, his eyes kept straying to that hideous ‘friend’ word. It was just too optimistic of him to think she’d see him in a different light other than that one. He massaged his temples and accepted what he thought was the truth, that Clara only saw a friend in him.

\-----

_Thank you for those kind words. It doesn’t sound weird at all; I know what you mean. It’ll be nice to have a friend who doesn’t have a dick and doesn’t fucking act like one._

_-M._

\-----

Clara too, stared at the ‘friend’ word and rolled her eyes. “I definitely fucking blew it. Well done, Clara!” she said sarcastically and flopped down on the bed. If she backtracked now, how would it look? _Time to call Amy,_ she thought and rang her.

“Hey, Amy, I need your help real quick!”

“Well, hurry up! Rory’s in the shower and I’m hoping to, you know, ambush him!” she whispered harshly.

“Right, okay. I’m interested in this guy and I said the word ‘friend’ in a text message referring to him. Thing is he texted me back and used the word ‘friend’ referring to me. What does that mean, did I blew it?”

“Not entirely. He was bothered by it, I guess. If he wasn’t then he wouldn’t have mentioned it again...”

Clara started biting her fingernails. “Should I fix it?”

Amy chuckled. “Nah, leave it like that. If he stays away from you, then you know that he was only interested in shagging.”

Clara sighed. “Okay, thanks for your help and use condoms, please!”

“That’s covered! I bought some that taste like-“

“No! Bye, see you later, oh my god.” She hung up and started laughing. Amy was one crazy girl and very open about that. Clara was relatively open about that too but hearing Amy talking about that and knowing that Rory was somewhere near and that they were about to do that… god, she had some limits!

\-----

_I can be a dick some times.  I’m going to sleep now, Malc. Can I call you, Malc?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Yes, you can. In fact, my friends call me ‘Malc’. Although some idiots have tried calling me ‘Malc’. They were trying to get chummy with me. Those idiots are all dead._

_-M._

\-----

_Oh, alright, Malc. Have a good night and I hope you don’t dream about killing me and that you don’t consider me an idiot._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Nah. I won’t have those sort of dreams with you. You’re an idiot in my books because you decided to get to know me. Anyways, I need sleep, as you do. So good night, Clara._

_-M._

\-----

_Good night, Malcolm._

_-Clara_

\-----

She sighed and re-read his last text one more time. _Well, that went well, I guess._ She put her mobile on her nightstand and tried to sleep, after all, she was the one who had to open the shop early tomorrow.

* * *

 

Malcolm didn’t go to bed exactly. He was pissed off at Clara and pissed off at himself _. Why would she see me as anything else? I didn’t give her a reason to see me as anything other than a friend… then why am I so fucking upset?_ Knowing that sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight, he decided to be productive, and that meant work.

Taking out his laptop, he decided to compose an email to Sam about Bono’s AIDS campaign. He had mixed feelings about that campaign and what better way to take out your anger than on a stupid celebrity?

\-----

**_From:_ ** _Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ [ _mtucker@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:mtucker@gov.org.uk) _]_

**_To:_ ** _Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker_

**_Subject:_ ** _AIDS Awareness_

_Sam,_

_Can’t sleep. Want to send this to Bono._

_I’ve given it some consideration and I’m thinking the best way for you to raise AIDS awareness is to contract it, you bloated yacht-fuck._

_M x_

_\-----_

**_From:_ ** _Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ [ _scassidy@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:scassidy@gov.org.uk) _]_

**_To:_ ** _Bono_

**_Subject:_ ** _AIDS Awareness_

_Bono,_

_Just wanted to say congratulations on the continued work on AIDS awareness. I have an idea for something even more radical. Let’s talk soon. It will cost you though – my PA Sam wants four backstage passes to your next London gig._

_Best,_

_Malcolm_

_*Sent on behalf of Malcolm Tucker_

_\-----_

**_From:_ ** _Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ [ _scassidy@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:scassidy@gov.org.uk) _]_

**_To:_ ** _Malcolm Tucker_

**_Subject:_ ** _FW: AIDS Awareness_

_How’s this?_

S x

\-----

**_From:_ ** _Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ [ _mtucker@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:mtucker@gov.org.uk) _]_

**_To:_ ** _Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker_

**_Subject:_ ** _RE: AIDS Awareness_

_Funny. But do that again and I will kill you. Good night._

_M x_

\-----

He logged out of his email and stared at his laptop’s background. He decided to visit some news sites and see what was being said about this and that and then decided to go to Amazon and see what was there to buy. He ended up buying some David Bowie’s cds and one from Led Zeppelin. That done, he turned off his laptop and went to bed. Although he wasn’t sleepy, he decided that he somehow had to sleep. He checked on one of his nightstand drawers and took out some sleeping pills. Taking half of one, he laid down and waited for it to take effect; if he was lucky, tomorrow would be a peaceful day and if not, well, fuck it, he couldn’t control what went right or wrong in this shitty floating rock people called Earth.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The emails from Sam to Malcolm were taken from “The Missing DoSAC Files.”
> 
> Auf Wiedersehen: means ‘til I see you again.
> 
> Adios para siempre: means good-bye forever
> 
>  
> 
>  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay1 I've been pretty busy lately. Anywau, here's the next chapter, enjoy!
> 
> Ps. Also thanks for the comments1 *hugs*

It was one of those glum days for Malcolm. Those kind of days that when you wake up something just doesn’t feel right. It could be the way the air smells, the way the wind sounds or just simply the way things feel. That sort of shit that makes you feel a terrible ache in your chest. Malcolm dismissed it as indigestion but deep down; so far down his psyche he knew that it wasn’t that. With those sleeping pills he always had weird dreams, those kinds of dreams that confused you because you couldn’t tell what was reality and what was fiction, mainly because both were equally ridiculous.

He had woken up, still groggy and a little spaced out –thanks to the pill- and went straight for the shower. Standing under the shower head he didn’t even felt the water falling on his face and cascading down his body. He was perfectly unaware of it and thought about not going to Jamie’s, not even today or tomorrow. He thought it was better if he just laid down and watched some movies and hoped the weekend just went away quickly so he could keep working.

He was aware that his job consumed most of his life, but really, what else was there to do? It was all work, work, and work until you died, he knew that and he thought that was common knowledge. He hadn’t taken a vacation in ten years and this was exactly the reason. With nothing work-related to do, his mind dived into upsetting subjects and the like and if being Director of Communications had afforded him something, it was the gift of not thinking about his personal life; at all.

Although he was happy about the fact that Jamie had a family of his own, he couldn’t help but wonder how Jamie had achieved that but more importantly, how Jamie could juggle the two together. Malcolm wasn’t really sure he could accomplish that; he couldn’t even imagine himself not working in Number Ten. Was he a workaholic? Yes, he was and he loved every minute of it. He felt as if he was the king of the world while he was working and putting people in their rightful place, where they belonged, it gave him a small feeling of satisfaction. Maybe he did have a sort of god-complex; who didn’t in these days and age? He was one of the most feared “spin doctors” and that made him feel proud and useful. He felt like he had a purpose on this Earth, besides living in it, of course.

Trying to shake himself from his funk, he turned the tap to cold water and stood under it for a minute or so until he couldn’t take it anymore. He dried himself and tussled his hair a bit so it could dry faster and took whatever he could get from the closet while he was not looking. He ended up taking a long sleeved flannel shirt, a blue jumper, grey cargo pants and since he was already cold, he took one of his favorite fleece jackets. For footwear he opted for some boots he rarely used, he had used them only three times, if memory served him right and it usually did.

It was around 6:30am and his flat was the last place he wanted to be in. It was not only suffocating, it was also annoying. The only thing he heard was the sound of the fridge working and that dreaded repetitive ‘tick tock’ of the clock. He wanted to be a normal human being by the time he was at Jamie’s and he needed to fix his mood and prepare himself some breakfast. Getting his IPod from where he last left it –besides his TV- he browsed through his songs and stopped on ‘Space Oddity’ by David Bowie. He had heard the song countless of times. First he had hated it but then he started to like it, and it was now one of those songs that reminded him that there were still things to do here on Earth. _Things could be worse. For example, I could be floating in a fucking tin can._ He chuckled and put on his earphones as he prepared himself some breakfast. He ate it quickly since it just consisted of toast and a really sweet coffee because he had dumped three spoons of sugar in it. He had a sweet tooth and that was something not many people knew.

By 6:48 he decided to try his luck and text Clara. He was no longer mad at her, he passed that step some time ago while he slept, now he just was in acceptance of what she had said, or rather what she had not said. Although she hadn’t told him explicitly that she wanted him as a friend, he deciphered that by himself. He didn’t need a fucking map to know that he was in the so called ‘friend-zone’. The way he saw it, he had two options: A) be what was expected of his species and stop talking to her or B) be the friend she wanted him to be and look at her from a distance. The first option had some merit because he could just be the typical man and just focus on his work. Plus, it would ultimately do her a favour as well because he really didn’t have much time to have a relationship and dedicate it the amount of time that went into it, alas, he could present himself to her as a good man, tell her that he didn’t have much time for her and didn’t want to hurt her and end up looking like a good guy who was not simply thinking about his selfish desires but instead, was thinking about the feelings of another human being. But he was not a good guy. He was a selfish man and if he wanted something, he got it, whatever it took, no matter how much time it took to accomplish that task.

Both his options thrown in his mental bin; he devised a plan to woo Clara Oswald. No more being a touchy-feely Malcolm as he had been as of late. He was going to keep being himself but he was going to do things in his own calculated way without being spontaneous. Spontaneity sometimes called for trouble and he knew that first-hand; dealing with PM’s and incompetent cabinet ministers let you know that spontaneity was a fucking disease.

First, he’d have to try and spend more time with her, dedicate her more time, which was the key to everything. Let her know that he cared about her without being too obvious about it and without saying it directly. He intended to be in her mind every day, from the time she woke up to the time she got to bed; even be present in her dreams if he could.

 He took his earphones off and frowned. _That sounds perhaps a bit too fucking psycho._ He shook his head and went to his bedroom to get his phones. His plan was to make her at least fancy him; he could easily take care of the rest and make her want him as something more than a friend. He was aiming for a relationship but at this point; he was so thirsty for any kind of intimacy that he would take whatever she gave him and if she wanted him to back off, he fucking would because his mother raised him better than that. A friendship with her would have to do.

Saving her number in his Iphone, he proceeded to delete it from his other phone and texted her.

\-----

_Good morning, Clara. I hope you have a nice day._

_-M._

\-----

He sat on the edge of his bed and while he waited for her text he checked his Blackberry. No phone calls, no texts, no emails, nothing. He frowned at his Blackberry mainly because he couldn’t believe there was absolutely nothing related to work waiting for him. Perhaps the shit-storm would hit him when he was an hour away from Number 10? It was not a nice thought to have and that made him compose an email to Sam.

\-----

**_From:_ ** _Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ [ _mtucker@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:mtucker@gov.org.uk) _]_

**_To:_ ** _Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker_

**_Subject:_ ** _Work_

_Sam,_

_Are there really no emails for me or are you sleeping still? Answer ASAFP!_

_M x_

\-----

As he sent that email, his Iphone vibrated and he snatched it from the nightstand.

\-----

_It has started already being nice, actually. Thank you. I hope you have a nice day too._

_-Clara_

\-----

He smirked and typed back. With his Iphone he took a while because his fingers pressed buttons he didn’t meant to press. It was the only thing that pissed him off about the Iphone.

\-----

_I hope the reason for it being a nice day was because I texted you, but that’s just wishful thinking. Have you got any plans for today?_

_-M._

_There, that was a light bit of flirting that could be taken as a bit of a joke if it went wrong_ , thought Malcolm.

His Blackberry vibrated and he took it with his left hand and read it quickly.

\-----

_From: Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ [ _scassidy@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:scassidy@gov.org.uk) _]_

_To: Malcolm Tucker_

_Absolutely nothing for you, boss. It’s Saturday, enjoy your day! If you write me again job related issues today –on a non-work day, no less! - I might or might not resign._

_S x_

\-----

He chuckled and shook his head. He had a soft spot for Sam, she wasn’t like the lot he worked with and she was smart enough to not take his sarcastic and mean comments to heart. She understood that his job was extremely stressful sometimes and the only way he could vent his stress was by abusing everyone around him; those who deserved it, of course; or just bitch and complain about everything to her when she entered his office to give him coffee, papers or simply give him something.

He put his Blackberry on his nightstand and opened another text from Clara. There was nothing out of order as he alternated between his two phones, he did that often on a daily basis to be bothered by it.

\-----

_Ha ha, it was because of that; how did you know? The fact that I just had waffles with ice cream for breakfast has absolutely nothing to do with it. ;) I was thinking about going shopping with Amy once I was out of work. New clothes and the like. Would you like to come?_

_-Clara_

\-----

He stared long and hard at her text as if he was trying to decipher with his stare just what the fuck she meant by that; by all of that. _Why are women so fucking difficult?_ He passed his hand over his face and read the message again. The first step to unraveling a hidden message was to break the text part for part and adjoin a meaning to it.

First, he started by trying to make reason about the first two sentences. She was teasing him, and that was good, which meant that his half-joke was being noted but was also received with a joke. That was good news.

Second, she let him know that she had something to do but had invited him knowing that he would decline -no man in their right mind would go shopping with two young women-. That would make him suggest they meet at another time and therefore, leaving a slot open for them to meet. It was a clever plan, made by a clever girl, he was impressed. She was subconsciously playing right into his game. _Now, calling it a game sounded wrong on so many levels…_ _let’s call it a subtle conquest then,_ he smirked and wrote back.

\-----

_I’d rather have acid thrown on my face… but I would gladly go somewhere else with you._

_-M._

\-----

_I would like that. We’ve got to talk about you-know-what in person. I’m estimating I’ll be finished with shopping by 7:00pm._

_-Clara_

\-----

_I’ve got my nephew and niece to pick up at six… Well, fuck me._

_-M._

\-----

_I would gladly do so!_

_-Clara_

\-----

Malcolm’s eyes widened as he read the text. He was really not expecting that from Clara. Just as he was typing a saucy answer, he got another text from her.

\-----

_Sorry, sorry, sorry! That was just me joking and being spontaneous, sorry! Ugh! I looked like a tit, I think, because you took so long to answer. Anyways, my shift will start in five minutes. We’ll keep in contact, yes? I’m out for lunch at 11, whatever you text from 11 to 12, I will answer. Have a good day, handsome!_

_-Clara_

\-----

_I will do that, yes. Have a good day, cupcake._

_-M_.

\-----

_God, that sounded… ugh, awful!_ He groaned and put his head in his hands. That was the stupidest thing he had said in a while. _Pfft, cupcake what was I thinking!?_ He looked at his watch and sighed.  He was supposed to be at Jamie’s at nine but surely he could be there a wee bit early, couldn’t he? He didn’t want to be there all day and to top it off; he knew nothing of swing sets assembly, which meant that he would most likely spend almost all day there. Sighing, he stood up and accepted his fate. If the traffic was light, he would be there with an hour to spare.

* * *

 

He parked his car in front of Jamie’s house and looked at the windows for some sign of life. Only a light seemed to be on in what he knew was the kitchen; he snorted and got out of the car. Malcolm and Jamie had almost the same habits. Both of them could never stay in bed for long and it was an unspoken truth that both of them suffered from insomnia. While Malcolm dealt with it with pills and the occasional wank; Jamie dealt with it the old-fashioned way, to put it crudely, he simply fucked his wife.

Malcolm remembered a past conversation they had when Jamie had told him exactly that. The man had the audacity to tell him to do the same and when Malcolm told him that he had more important things to be doing, Jamie then proceeded to tease him about how he didn’t have anyone to fuck. Malcolm in turn, reminded him that he was not the one who had been celibate for almost seven years and that it was understandable that Jamie had sex as much as he could, and that was that. They didn’t talk about it afterwards.

Instead of knocking on the door like any normal human being would, Malcolm skirted alongside the kitchen’s window until he saw Jamie. He was dressed in what appeared to be a robe and Malcolm just stared at him until Jamie noticed someone was staring. As he stared, he gave Jamie his famous ‘bollocking face’ and waited.

Jamie frowned as he prepared his coffee and looked to his living room in hopes of finding the source of his uneasiness. As he raised the cup of coffee to his lips and took a sip, he turned his head to his right; as he saw Malcolm’s face he started to choke. He hastily put his coffee down and cleaned his mouth and chest with one of those kitchen towels.

“Oi, you fucking sneaky bastard! What the fuck are you doing here this early!?” yelled Jamie.

Malcolm just grinned mischievously at Jamie and walked to the front door as Jamie opened it. “What a nice welcome, Jamie. You’re a pretty good host.”

“Ah, you’ve seen nothing. I can give you a welcoming punch as well.” Jamie suggested as he touched at his chest.

“So… are you going to fucking let me in?” He crossed his arms over his chest and as he looked behind Jamie he saw his wife, Sarah. “Sarah, darling!”

“Malc, you’re here early! Jamie, move aside, please, leaving guests outside is a bit rude.” She moved to the kitchen leaving Jamie and Malcolm alone again. Malcolm raised an eyebrow at Jamie and he moved aside with a grunt.

“Never ever do that again. You fucking scared me.”

“That was the purpose.” He smirked and patted Jamie’s shoulder. “Sorry, really.”

Jamie just hummed and went upstairs, leaving Malcolm to walk to the kitchen and give Sarah some company. They chatted amicably as Jamie showered and Sarah tried to pry a little into his private life as she offered him coffee. She was a nice woman and he considered her something close to a friend, but not quite. They weren’t that close for him to share whatever happened in his life. He was certain that Jamie told her some of it, after all, they were as close as fucking asscheeks, but he didn’t mind that much.

He finished his coffee and followed Jamie outside. The day was a bit sunny, with the usual share of dark clouds looming ahead and there was little to no wind. It looked like the first introductory five minutes of _The Walking Dead_.

“When will the fucking zombies come out of the bushes and start ripping our flesh?” he asked as he looked around, hands in the pockets of his fleece jacket.

“Are you going nutters?” Jamie started walking towards a shed he had as Malcolm followed.

“No, but look around you. You can’t fucking fault me for asking that.”

“You should see this place at night. Downright fucking scary.” Jamie chuckled. “Now, help me here.”

Malcolm helped with the heavy boxes and some other bits of wood that were not in boxes. Together, they carried them to the middle of the backyard and set to work with some tools Jamie had brought.

Forty-five minutes or so later, they had the platform of the swing set done and Malcolm took off his jacket and carried it inside, leaving it in one of the couches in the living room along with his phones. He hadn’t done that kind of physical effort in years and he felt a bit winded up. Playing tennis with Cal Richards had nothing on building a swing set. Carrying two bottles of water, he sat done besides Jamie and checked the plans of the swing set.

“Did you fucking bought this shit in Ikea? I can’t understand half of it.”

“It was a present from the girls’ grandparents. They thought it’d be nice if the girls had a swing set. But obviously, they didn’t even offer to fucking help. If not with building it, at least with fucking reading these plans.” He sighed and took the bottle of water Malcolm was offering him as they both huddled together trying to make sense of the plans.

“How are things with Clara?” asked Jamie innocently as he flipped to another page.

“Fine.” He replied.

“Just fine?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm.” Jamie stood and gave Malcolm the plans. “See if you can make some sense of them. I’m going to check something. But everything is really alright between you two?”

He sighed and glared at Jamie. “I really like you, Jamie. It’d be a shame if I smashed your head with this hammer in your home. But yes, we’re good. Now, no more questions about Clara, okay?”

Jamie nodded, seemingly satisfied and went inside as Malcolm kept reading the plans. Sometimes Jamie was a bit of a bother. He wanted to know everything and anything that in some way concerned him. Malcolm summarized that this particular issue didn’t concerned him at all. But Jamie being who he was, if he knew he could do something to make things better, he did it. His motto was: ‘To hell with the consequences! Its better to say sorry than to ask for permission.’ Malcolm found it to be a nice motto and an admirable trait, because Jamie was certainly brave; but such a way of thinking could lead to serious consequences, some of those he usually dealt with back at work.

* * *

 

As Jamie went inside, he looked behind him to make sure Malcolm was still where he left him. He went to the living room and took both of Malcolm’s phones and checked for Clara’s number in his Blackberry first. He swore when couldn’t find it and proceeded to check on the Iphone only to find that it was blocked.

“Shit!” he stared at screen trying to figure out the password. _If I were Malcolm… my password would be… my date of birth? Nah, too fucking amateur._ He bit his lip and looked out the window to see Malcolm still on the floor. _‘Fuck’? Well, it’s worth a try._ He typed it and disabled the screen lock. Grinning like an idiot, he saved Clara’s phone number on his own Iphone, and then blocked it again.

He intended to call Clara today, when Malcolm was long gone, to ask her if she could come to his place. He would tell her Malcolm was coming as well and that he probably needed help with his kids and some other shit. Malcolm would be mad at first but his anger would pass, he was sure of it.

* * *

 

It was 9:40, the swing set was finished and both men were exhausted. Malcolm more than Jamie and he felt hot, pretty hot. Jamie noticed this and suggested they both go inside and Malcolm rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He then sat tiredly on the sofa and breathed heavily for a while as Jamie went to the kitchen to get them both some orange juice.

“Where are Annie and Mary?” he passed a hand along his face as he gratefully accepted the cold drink.

“At their gran’s house. They’ll come back here around noon, I bet. Sarah’s parents always do that. Then they stay for an hour or so… it pisses me off. This is not a fucking 24/7 cheap hotel.” Jamie massaged his temples and looked over at Malcolm. “Do your parents do that?”

He shrugged. “No, they’re too old to drive back to their place and they don’t like the tube. They mostly show up unannounced and when I’m not there. Mum cleans up and leaves some food. I’ve told her to stop doing that but she insists. You know, I’m a good liar but I can’t lie to my mother. She knows when I’m lying.”

“Nearly everyone close to you knows when you’re fucking lying.” Jamie teased.

“You wish.” He smirked at Jamie and leaned back. “I’m going to take a 20 minute nap, yeah? Wake me up when those 20minutes are done.”

“Just don’t drool over my fucking sofa or I’ll cut off your tongue.” Jamie leaned back and turned on the telly. He watched over Malcolm as he dozed off and shook his head. Lately Malcolm looked more run down than he cared to admit and he was being constantly granted the chance of seeing him weak like this. Jamie honestly didn’t know what to think. He’d like to think that Malcolm felt comfortable enough to let him see that defeated/weak side of him; but what if he just acted like this around Jamie because he simply didn’t care anymore? He didn’t want to contemplate the answer to that question so he turned his attention to the telly. He was counting on Clara to make Malcolm go back to the man he was when he met him, and a better man if that was possible. But Clara was no savior; in fact the only person who could potentially save you was yourself, and that was something he learned a while ago. People were only good to help you, guide you and give you a purpose; the rest was up to you.

* * *

 

He woke up exactly at 10:00 and stretched over the sofa. He didn’t have a nice sleep but it was enough to recover his energy. He felt he could certainly retake his sleep once he was at his place and the thought of a nice cold shower and a nap agreed with his tired body. As he stood, he heard Jamie chuckling in the kitchen; so naturally, he went there only to find Jamie looking at his phone.

“What has you laughing like a fucking lunatic?” he asked as he reclined against the wall.

“Come on, check this out. It’s hilarious!”

 Intrigued, he walked and stopped behind Jamie… only to see a compilation of videos of cats being the assholes that they were. Throwing things to the floor, being assholes to other cats and the like. He watched the vids with Jamie until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Yeah, pretty fucking funny. Ha ha!” he said sarcastically. “Now, I have to get going. My shower is waiting for me.”

“Sure.” While he gathered his stuff from the living room; Jamie opened the door for him.

“Be here tomorrow, yeah?” Jamie patted his shoulder and Malcolm nodded.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He smiled briefly at Jamie and left for his car.

* * *

 

He was so desperate to go back to his flat that he had forgotten how fucking dead and silent the place was. This place practically screamed that it was his, he knew it, but he always got the feeling that it was missing something. It certainly felt less lonely when he had had women he liked over, but right now, not even the memories of those women and everything they did around his flat brought some comfort to his soul. He thought about texting Clara and for once, he didn’t have any second thoughts about that.

\-----

_Fancy some lunch? At my place, maybe?_

_-M._

\-----

He sent it and went to get a shower. He hadn’t made such an effort like the one he had pulled at Jamie’s in years and he was afraid he was getting out of shape. His doctor had told him that at his age –as if he were an old sod- he needed to exercise at least 45 minutes every day. Malcolm would have obeyed but the fact that his work practically didn’t allow him to do so was what stopped him. True, he could get up early but he didn’t actually want to do that. He lacked the motivation and besides, standing up the majority of his work days and walking –or occasionally running- from one building to another had to count as an exercise, right?

This time though, he ignored the clothes entirely and opted for boxer briefs. They were comfortable and they were the kind of underwear he preferred. The reason why he only wore that now was because if Clara said she couldn’t have lunch with him, he could simply stay like that and wait until around 5 so he could dress and pick up the kids. It was simple logic.

\-----

_Can’t. I’m pissed off right now and don’t want to see anybody and I’m already at home… but… do you have Skype?_

_-Clara_

\-----

No, he didn’t know what that was but he could just google it and see what it was. He decided then to turn on his laptop and download the fuckery that was Skype. Sam had taught him how to download things like that and the registration process was a tad too long but he did it.

\-----

_I do now. My username is badmothertucker._

_-M._

\-----

_Okay, I added you, accept my request! We can chat a bit there and have lunch together without actually being together._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Done; now what?_

_-M._

\-----

_Now I call you through Skype. :P_

_-Clara_

\-----

Still with no trousers on; he leapt to his bed with the laptop in hand and his phone in the other. He put the laptop on the left side of his bed and searched through his drawers for a shirt. He came across an old black faded Led Zeppelin shirt and put it on just in time to see Clara’s call reflected on his laptop’s screen.

Sitting on his bed, back against the headboard; he put a pillow on his lap and then his laptop on top. He clicked the ‘answer’ button and waited.

Clara’s face appeared on his screen and he smiled. “Well, hello there, grumpy-fucking pants.”

“Ha ha ha, that wasn’t funny, Malcolm.” She made a face at him and he chuckled.

“Okay, sorry. Who do I need to fucking chop to bits?” he passed a hand through his hair as he looked at her through the screen. “I’ve got plenty of experience with that. I can make scarves out of their fucking entrails.”

She appeared to be in what he thought was a kitchen because he could see some cabinets behind her. Although she was wearing the uniform he had seen her with, she now had her hair free of a hair band and was fixing it as he looked at her. But she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking at the small screen in the corner, he supposed. He didn’t mind that much because he could observe her without her knowledge.

“Oi, are you fucking going to talk to me or what?” he raised an eyebrow at her reflection on the screen and she looked at him with a little bit of embarrassment showing. “Because if you don’t want to actually talk, I’m fucking alright with that, yeah? Need some eye candy.”

“Sorry, I’m just distracted. Before you ask what I’m mad about… don’t you raise that eyebrow again at me, mister! Well, before you ask… I sent a C.V to Coal Hill School and they called me for a job interview today at 2:00pm and I told them that I couldn’t and if they could postpone it and they said: ‘Oh... we’ll call you later’ and hung up. Now, you know, what that means is: ‘we won’t call you’ and I’m so stressed about that.” She put her head in her hands and sighed so hard Malcolm heard it on his speakers.

He really didn’t know how to comfort her but he tried his best anyways. “Look… I know it’s… hard to look for a job. My first job was in a newspaper, I got it when I was 26. That was my first real job. I used to be one of those valet parking fucking guys. Got once a tip that consisted of a quid and bubblegum.” He chuckled. “Then I got my job as Press Officer around… 34, I think. Got a reputation around there and then got promoted to the position I’m in now. Well, not exactly promoted… I did sack somebody… what I think I’m trying to say is, that it takes time to get where you want to get in life. Of course, sometimes it feels as a single book that has just been stretched into three fucking movies.”

Clara slumped forward and played with her food around her plate a little. “I know… it’s just… I want to really be a teacher, you know? I want to teach young minds or just… people in general, and talk to them about what I love and read whatever mad idea they come up with when I assign them essays.” She took a few bites and pursued her lips. “I sent a rather risky C.V. To Oxford University, it’d be nice if they did call, don’t you think? I could get to presume I’m a professor at Oxford University. Now that would be great!”

He chuckled at her enthusiasm and agreed. “Well, if you think it would be great I won’t argue with you on that, sweetheart. However, I’d have to hate you by association. You see, they’re on my top list of ‘shit I hate’.  First, it’s the Oxford students, then the teachers who work there, the cyclists and then PM’s and Cabinet ministers and since I wouldn’t want them to corrupt you with their twatishness and snobbishness; I’m afraid I’d have to spend a wee more time with you.” He spread his hands in front of him and dramatically shook his head, letting a sigh escape his lips. “So sad, really.”

Clara bit her lip and looked at him. “Sounds like a horrible thing, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a room with you. It would be so horrible; I’d have to jump off a window.”

“Then once you’re dead, I will use your scalp as a small bathroom rug.” He grinned and she laughed and pointed her fork at him.

“You leave my scalp intact, Malcolm.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Okie, okie.”

“Now-” Clara started talking in a serious tone but Malcolm stopped her by scoffing.

“W-why we can’t just… enjoy this _delightful_ conversation a little bit longer instead of diving straight to the shit?”

“Well, I happen to think that it’d be pretty good to get the inevitable conversation out of the way instead of delaying it, don’t you think?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “As I was saying, before you stopped me-” She glared at him and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Ugh, I’m trying to be serious here, Malcolm, collaborate with me, please!”

“Yes, you have all my attention, love. You certainly do.” He tried to appear serious but it was evident he was trying too hard not to laugh. However, Clara either wasn’t faced by it or just chose to ignore that.

“Okay, first, were you just not going to tell me anything about you working for the government?”

“Well, if it came up and I thought you needed to know, I would’ve told you. Just like what happened. I did tell you, didn’t I?” he reclined against the headboard and his head just didn’t quite appear in the screen. “Fuck, I’m going to move to the living room, I can’t get comfortable here.” He placed the laptop on the bed facing the other way so Clara couldn’t see that he wasn’t wearing any trousers.

“Okay, why am I facing the other way? Oh, nice bookshelf by the way… it appears you have a lot of movies.”

“Well, I’m just wearing my underwear; I’m looking for something I can put on. It would be strange if you saw me in my underwear with no amount of fucking foreplay beforehand, wouldn’t it?” he stayed silent for a bit until he came across some sweatpants on the floor. “I found sweatpants.” He took the laptop and faced her again as he was walking to the living room. “You were saying?”

“Well, uh-” she cleared her throat in an attempt to vanish the thought of him talking to her in his underwear. “So what you’re saying is that if the topic didn’t came up you wouldn’t have told me, right?”

He nodded and put the laptop on the coffee table in front of the sofa and sat down. Now Clara could see his whole upper body and a bit of his lap. “That’s right.”

“You would have been lying to me.”

He snorted and looked to the left, then released a sigh. He looked back at the screen and saw her looking at him with disappointment and he leaned forward. “Listen I… fuck. That wouldn’t be lying, technically. I would just be omitting the truth.”

“That’s lying!”

She was appalled at his reasoning, he could tell that much. “Darling, it fucking isn’t; that’s just… not saying it. How dare you say I’d be lying? That’s just-” he snorted. “Fucking stupid.”

“Alright! You’d be omitting the truth since you don’t want to accept that you would be lying-”

“Okay, but listen-” said Malcolm, interrupting her.

“Don’t you interrupt me when I’m talking, Malcolm Tucker!” she yelled at him through the screen causing him to recline back. She was certain that if looks could kill, Malcolm’s surely would have killed her but she plunged ahead because she wasn’t really afraid of him, despite of what she had heard and read about him recently.

“You would have been lying to me.” She continued in a quieter tone. “Why would you have lied to me?”

He let out a breath and his hand went for his chin. He shrugged. “This is fucking surreal, you know it, yeah? You’re getting upset, _unnecessarily_ upset might I add, about a hypothetic scenario!” he pointed at her. “You, my dear Clara, know it didn’t fucking happened like that, I told you, didn’t I? Yes, I did have reservations about telling you but the bottom line is that I did. I fucking did and I can’t physically or mentally understand, why the fuck are you going nutters about that. Something tells me that that is not really what you want to ask.” He reclined back and motioned at her to continue. “Go ahead, tell me or ask me what you really want to ask.”

Clara gaped and shook her head at him. “You are a fucking asshole, Malcolm.” She tried to calm herself down and continued. “What I’m trying to say is… okay, when you try to start a friendship with someone, you know, being  _friends_ , you know what they are, right? They tell themselves anything relevant the other might wish to know. Inconsequential stuff like, where do you work, what do you like, things like that and well, so far you… haven’t opened up to me. I feel as if… you know, we talk, we get on marvelously but we don’t know anything about each other except our age, where we work and that you have a sister, a nephew and a niece and you like… you don’t seem interested in getting to know me, that’s just what I mean.”

He gulped and looked down for a while thinking about what to say. Malcolm looked at her and nodded slowly. It was true, he didn’t even think about those things and he was supposed to know how to make friends, yeah?  “You’re right.” He said quietly and smiled at her. “I think we’ve been doing this wrong, I mean-” he pointed at himself. “I’m not exactly friend material, yeah? Only friend I’ve got is Jamie, you know that. My brother from another mother. I love him, I do and I’m not really sure how the friend thing with him happened. We just bonded over our hatred of people. People are fucking horrible, you’ve met them, yeah?” at her nod, he continued. “We can…” he licked his lower lip and said quietly. “Start over, yeah? Get that behind us. That never fucking happened. So. My name’s Malcolm Tucker, I’m Director of Communications for the PM, whatever, I’m 49, Scottish and…” he cleared his throat and leaned forward. “If a word of what I’m going to say gets out, I’ll know the leak was you. So, I dye my hair.” He said in all seriousness.

A chuckle escaped her and she covered her mouth. “Are you serious?” at his nod she started laughing in earnest. “Doesn’t matter really. Grey would look… pretty good on you, I guess.”

“Yes, yes, haven’t dyed it in a while and will probably stop doing so. You can see some grey already but I don’t care. Now it’s your turn. Go on, grasshopper.”

“Well, my name is Clara Oswald, I’m what you would call a barista but not exactly that, I do many things at once… I’m 28, British and well…” she scratched her head. “I don’t think I’ve got any massive secrets or an important secret at least.”

Malcolm chuckled. “There must be at least something. Like, uh, you’re a submissive in fucking BDSM. Or hell, maybe a fucking Dome, that would be terrific because you’re so tiny.”

“Now that you say that… I think that, you know, hypothetically speaking, I might be a Dome.” At his inquiring look, she nodded. “Yes, yes… you’ve planted a nice idea in my head. Now I’m curious about it… or a bit of both.”

He smirked at her, made himself more comfortable in his sofa and grinned at her. “Do some light reading about it. You might be what they call a ‘switch’. I only know about it because I was curious once. Didn’t had sex with anyone including the BDSM thing, just that I read some things online. Then again, you should never trust what’s written on the internet. Could be lies being told by fucking virgin fat bloggers that have nothing better to do with their time than sweat and eat.”

Clara chuckled. “Don’t be so mean, Malcolm.”

“I’m not being mean, sweetheart. I’m telling the truth.” He winked at her.

“That wink is really sexy. Could win some girls over.” Clara smiled cheekily at him.

“Even you?” he asked and she stayed quiet. He didn’t know how to interpret her silence, really. _Way to fucking go with your so called ‘subtle conquest’, you fucking twat!_ “Listen, I will not lie to you from now on. I read somewhere that honesty was the best policy. Now that’s a load of fucking crap _and_ a lie. Sometimes you have to lie to get what you want but I think in my case or our case; honesty might be the best policy. What I am trying to say is… I fucking find you attractive, yeah? You talk to me or are… around and I feel this tightening in my chest.” He chuckled. “Before I knew what it was I thought it was indigestion or that I was finally feeling the signs of a severe heart stroke, I fucking even google’d it. Came across some page and it convinced me that I was going to die soon for a bit, but the signs were way off so I ignored it. The conclusion I am coming to right now is… that maybe that feeling is ‘longing’ or that I really fancy you.”

He had said all that in a rush and his last sentence came off a bit breathy but he was past caring. He just wanted to know what she thought of that and get all these feelings out of the way if she wasn’t feeling any of them, but she just stayed silent with her mouth agape and her eyes looking a bit lost but so damn big. He hated silences like the one they were having, after he confessed something that was so intimate and close to his heart. He dreaded those silences so much that he often filled them with words and this time was no exception. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s great… that’s fucking great. I can be just a friend but just please… say something… unlike, Morgan fucking Freeman, I don’t like the sound of my own voice.” He joked and looked at his hands.

His mind was aflame with countless of thoughts, each of them telling him how much of an idiot he had made out of himself. He had intended to take a subtle approach in her contest but when he was faced with her, his mind just didn’t work as it was supposed to. He tended to be a wee bit honest with her and that wasn’t entirely a bad thing. Although he would’ve liked it if he could just have a bit more control over his fucking mouth.

Clara, on the other hand, was still shocked over that development. What was she supposed to say to that? She couldn’t stay silent over that, no, that would send him the wrong signal. She cleared her throat and looked at him, only to see him still looking at his hands that were between his legs. He was leaning forwards and she could only see the top of his head and his shoulders slumped forward.

“Malcolm, you must know by now that I don’t like it when you look down after telling me serious stuff like what you just told me, don’t you?”

He raised his head and shrugged. “Can’t help it. It’s like a reflex… we can also make as if what I just said didn’t happened. We can just forget it, completely. No problem with that.”

“Just stop making assumptions for one bloody second. You know, that is your problem; you accept defeat, in matters such as this, too easily. There must be a reason for that, of course, and I’d like to know why that is, sometime later. We’ve established that I find you attractive as well a while back… so the question is… are you just looking for a shag? Because I can see into the future and while one side of me would gladly agree to that, my… sane side says ‘no’ simply because I like you perhaps a bit too much and would like to get to know you more before jumping into, uh, shagging territory.”

He nodded and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Fair enough. I am not looking for just a shag. Fucking is nice, haven’t done that in a while…” he bit his lip and looked at her seriously. “I think I would like to court you. Not date you, but court you, yeah? As in, get to know you and see if we really click. If nothing comes out of it, it’s alright, I’m not going to rage about that but I think I would still be there if you needed me. For anything.” Scratching the back of his neck, he raised an eyebrow at her. “So what do you say?”

“Yes, sure, the term is certainly very old fashioned but I can see why you object to the ‘dating’ term. It sounds trivial, I guess. I just hope it doesn’t lead straight to marriage.” She laughed a bit and he shook his head.

“No, it will not lead to marriage. Just… don’t think about marriage. It’ll put a lot of weight on you. Just let things happen in a timely manner and we’ll see what jumps at us next.”

“Sure. Well, it seems I have to get going. It was nice chatting and fighting with you.” She gave him a cheeky grin and he chuckled.

“Oh, Clara, that was nothing. It is always nice to hear from you. Do text me or call me if you want to talk. I’m not overly busy today. Have a good day at work and shopping.” He leaned forward to finish the call but she stopped him.

“If you need any help with the kids… call me, yes? I could be of some help.”

“Oh, thanks. Well, if things get out of fucking control, I’ll let you know.” He smiled at her and she returned the smile. He then ended the call and reclined back on his sofa.

His head was aching and that vein on his temple was throbbing like mad. Standing up, he went to the kitchen and checked what he could make for dinner for the kids once they were here. The kids liked pasta and pizza mostly, so he stuck to pasta since it was something that was easy and fast. Just the kind of thing one had to prepare for kids because it was fast, easy to make and easy to clean as well. That is, if they didn’t start a food fight which by fuck, he hoped they didn’t.

Next, he had to think about how to entertain them once they were finished so he could get all their bags to the spare room and check that everything was in order. He had plenty of movies he could show them, but most of them were rated R, zombies or aliens related and they were both scared of those things. That left him with the option of making them watch Iron Man or Harry fucking Potter. There were both good movies but if he remembered correctly, both movies had a fuck ton of dialogue and in a perfect scenario that would make the kids fall asleep quickly. In reality, he knew that they would get bored and start wrecking havoc; that scenario would result in him having to call Clara for help, which wasn’t so bad, now that he thought about it, but he sort of wanted her to know that he was not an incompetent twat, that he knew how to deal with kids. He decided that he would only call Clara when all his entertainment methods failed.

* * *

 

Clara had been in a great mood for most of the day and she didn’t even got mad at the customers as she used to do and that was something Rose immediately picked up. Thankfully, she had finished her shift exactly at four because Martha had arrived early. She even thanked her for arriving early and hailed a cab to go to her place. She gave the car driver a tip –something she rarely did- and called Amy as she was walking up the stairs to her flat.

“Hello, hello!”

“Hey, are we still on for shopping?” asked Clara as she opened the door to her flat.

“Yes! We’re coming to get you… in about thirty minutes?”

“Sure, I didn’t know Rory was coming.” She dropped her bag on a chair and opened her fridge to get herself some water.

“He isn’t. He’s just going to drop us off at the mall and go away and do some guy’s stuff. I’ll leave you so you can shower in peace, alright? It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m watching the telly or anything, so bye-bye!”

Clara rolled her eyes and finished her water then went to get a shower. She would have liked it if Malcolm had accompanied her to go shopping because she really needed someone to take her bags, but she also understood that he had his own things to do. She also understood that although he didn’t say it, she knew that his job demanded a lot of him and that even thought they had said in not so many words that they would be willing to try; she honestly didn’t know if trying would be enough for both of them.

As she got out of the shower, her phone vibrated twice and stopped. She picked it up and sure enough, it was a text from Malcolm but with a picture. It simply read:

\-----

_What is better for kids? Jaws, Harry Potter, or Iron Man?_

_-M._

\-----

She chuckled and wrote a response as she picked out her underwear from the top drawer.

\-----

_Harry Potter or Iron Man, silly. You’re going to traumatize them if you let them watch Jaws._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Hmm. Don’t you think those two movies are perhaps too long?_

_-M._

\-----

_Yeah… Uh, have you got Cars? It’s a kid’s movie. I’ve got it if you need it…_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Nope! Could I borrow it from you?_

_-M._

\-----

_Are you that eager to see me?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_The fact that I would get to see you would be a bonus. On a slightly more serious note, I really need it if I’m going to keep ‘thing 1’ and ‘thing 2’ in check._

_-M._

\-----

_Ha ha, okay, you’d have to come now because I’m leaving in about twenty minutes!_

_-Clara_

\-----

_I’m on my way then._

_-M._

\-----

Clara put on her underwear and bra quickly and turned for her closet. He had already seen her in trousers but now she wanted him to see her in something different. _Maybe a dress_ , she thought and grabbed a white one with black polka dots. She tried it on an added a panty hose and a black leather jacket. Looking at herself in the mirror, she added some light make-up and fixed her hair a bit. As she was putting on her heels, her phone rang and she picked it up.

“Already!?” she asked as she went in search for the movie.

“Yes, you live practically 10 minutes away from me, if I drive fast enough, that is.”

“You do drive fast.” She chuckled and kept looking for the movie. “I’m actually looking for the movie right now, why don’t you come up? You just have to go up the stairs and you’ll see the door.”

“Right, yeah. I’ll do that. I’m going to hang up.”

“Yup!”

When she replied, he hung up and switch off the engine. Earlier on, when she had said she had the movie, he had leaped from the bed and only just changed his sweatpants to jeans. As for shoes, he put on the first ones he saw which happened to be black leather moccasins and left. Only now he saw the error of his ways as he realized that he didn’t have a jacket, nor did he had his coat in the car.

He felt naked with just a shirt on because he always wore multiple layers of clothing, however, this wouldn’t stop him from getting the movie, seeing Clara and get it done with. The trek upstairs was uneventful and his thoughts were mostly on what kind of movie ‘Cars’ was but once he knocked the door and heard her voice telling him to come in, his thoughts went wild and focused entirely on her.

He let himself in and closed the door and immediately saw her dragging a chair to the upper shelves.

“Just like the Olympics.” He said by way of greeting simply because he didn’t know what else to say. He looked at her up and down and he was certain that his face had gone from its usual pale colour to an alarming shade of red. He cleared his throat and approached her. “You look splendid. Love the leather jacket. Makes you look like a rebel.”

She smiled at him briefly and focused on not falling while she retrieved the movie from the shelf. “I really have no idea why it’s up there, but oh well.” She took it and gave it to him, then tried to get down , she turned to the left, only to find that he was in front of her, with his hands near her waist.

“Just to prevent you from falling, in case you did, yeah?” his eyes were wide and they were the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Not that she knew many people, with blue eyes, just Amy and Rory and now him.

She put her hands on his shoulders and put some pressure on them. “So get me down, mister. I bet you can’t.” she teased with a cheeky smile.

“Ah, big mistake. You know I could just throw you over my shoulder like a fucking sack of potatoes?” he gripped her hips tight and smirked at her; his head tilted to the side.

“Maybe another time, please. I styled my hair just like I wanted it and if you ruin it, I’ll kill you.” He chuckled and hoisted her down but didn’t release her hips; just like she didn’t release his shoulders.

He looked down at her and caressed her sides. “Do I get a prize? After all, you’re a wee bit heavy.”

Clara scowled at him and pinched his shoulders. “If you were going to have any prize, you sure don’t deserve it now for that remark.”

“I could always, you know…” he leaned down and stopped when his mouth reached her ear. He breathed and could see her skin breaking into goosebumps and he smirked. “I could just… take what I want.” He tugged her close to him and just when he was going to move his head to kiss the corner of her mouth, a knock sounded on the door.

“Clara! Open up!”

He let out a sigh and kissed her cheek instead. “What a fucking killjoy, who’s that?” he stepped back from her and picked up the movie from the table he had put it on.

“That would be Amy, fuck. I don’t swear but…” she bit her lip and pointed at him. “We’ll most certainly finish that some other time.”

“Undoubtly. But I’m kind of glad for the interruption. I would have taken you against the wall and that’s not certainly how I wish this to go. We’re not animals and you don’t deserve to be fucked against a wall.” He went for the door and opened it. “Hello, I was just leaving.” He smiled at Amy and as he passed her by, he looked at Clara. “Do enjoy yourself.” With a smile, he trudged downstairs and left, leaving Clara staring at Amy with her eyes as wide as saucers.

“Clara, oh god!” Amy closed the door and shook Clara by her shoulders. “Was that ‘the guy’!? The one you talked to me about? Oh god! I didn’t know you were into dads!”

“He’s not a dad, he’s… he’s an uncle instead.” She grabbed Amy’s arms and pulled them down. “Relax, okay? I’ll tell you all about him when we get on with our shopping. Deal?”

“Deal! Let’s get going; I want to hear all about him!” Amy dragged Clara towards the door but Clara resisted.

“Wait, I have to get my bag, Jesus Christ, woman!” As she got them, Amy once again dragged her towards the door and downstairs leaving Clara with a feeling that this outing would be worse than being questioned by the Spanish Inquisition.

* * *

 

 From Clara’s place he had gone straight to his own. He prepared dinner just to have his mind occupied in a task that would keep him engaged for a while without thinking about what almost happened with Clara. Yes, he was literally dying to kiss her but he didn’t want it to be like a spur of the moment. He wanted it to be perfect, at the right time. Not that he was a romantic person, far from it, but he’d like Clara to someday look fondly at that memory instead of thinking something like: ‘Oh yes, our first kiss… he pushed me against a wall and we made out. No finesse or anything.’ He wanted her to remember it in a more romantic light, for example, after he left her in her place or something equally ridiculous. He’d have to watch fucking ‘Love Actually’ again to know how to be romantic and not screw everything up.

He tied everything up around 5:20 and left to pick up the kids. As he started the engine, his phone vibrated with a message from Clara.

\-----

_What do you think of this dress? Amy says its great but I think it’s a bit too much… what do you think?_

_-Clara_

\-----

It was a short red dress that that showed all her back, except her ass, of course. He didn’t know why she needed that dress but he already loved it. He would need that picture to fill some fantasies of his for quite some time until he got the real deal. He saved the picture and answered.

\-----

_I’m going to be driving. Be glad I received the picture just now or I would have occasioned a fucking accident. Don’t know why you need the dress but just fucking buy it, yeah? Fits you perfectly, like a fucking glove. Or better yet, like a condom on my hard dick. Shit._

_-M x_

\-----

He sent the text and started driving up to his sister’s place and instead of worrying about the reason why Clara needed that dress, he started worrying about the reception Alec and Lindsay would give him. He hadn’t seen them in a while and to be honest, he didn’t know how long it was because he was useless at conceptualizing time outside his work but he knew for a fact that he hadn’t seen them for Christmas. He knew that he had given Sam his credit card so she could use it to buy his nephew’s and niece’s gift and he remembered now that he told her to get something nice for herself, which she did because she had spent a small chunk of his money on those gifts. She had told him she had bought three or four gifts for each of them and she had bought herself cosmetics, he believed. Why women got excited about fancy face-paint, he’ll never know, but he was at least glad that she had bought something she liked.

Just as he was getting out of his car, the babysitter greeted him warmly and none too gently shoved the kids’ bags on his arms and said her good-byes to the kids and him, then left. Really, he was surprised he didn’t react quickly enough, he was certain that if his mind wasn’t as clouded as it was, he would’ve threatened to cut her limbs and throw them in the Thames, then use her blood for fucking spray-paint. However, those thoughts were quickly forgotten when he felt Alec and Lindsay hugging his legs and squeezing up to the point that he feared he might not have any circulation when they were done.

“Okay, okay, enough of this for now. Uncle Malc has to get your bags in the trunk, yeah?”

“Mhmm.” They both said in unison but did not relinquish their hold on his legs.

“Alec and Lindsay, please…” he closed his eyes and counted to five. “Release me, come on.” They did and he put their bags in the trunk. Miss Peacock, -as he referred to her because her hair had too many shades of pink and blue in it- , was so considerate that she had left both of their car seats sitting on the porch of the house and he picked them up and put them in.

“Right, that’s it.” He kneeled and opened his arms for them. They were a bit hesitant but they walked towards him again and hugged him. He held them tight and kissed the top of their heads. Right now, right in that moment life felt so simple for him. There were no problems, no anything. It was just him and the kids but then Alec had to fart and ruin the mood.

“Alec that’s disgusting, gah!” Malcolm stood up cleaned the dirt off his trousers. “I just hope you didn’t shit yourself, young man, or else I’m going to have to throw you into the Thames and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“No, no!” Alec shook his head and Malcolm chuckled.

“I wouldn’t actually do that; you know that, don’t you? Now, lad get in the car and you too princess.” He helped them put their seatbelts and sat on the driver’s seat. “Right, I’ve borrowed a movie for you guys to see.” He picked it from the passenger’s seat and showed it to them. “But we will only see it if you behave. If not, to hell with the movie. Are we clear?”

They nodded and he started driving. He had the radio in a low volume so he could still hear them but they didn’t make any noise. They just stuck their tongues at each other and looked out the window.  It was almost dark out and the traffic wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. In a red light, he twisted around and looked at them. “Do you guys want ice cream, yes or no?”

Maybe that was the wrong question to ask because they went absolutely crazy. They started fighting about which flavour was the best, what they wanted in their ice cream and he just turned around, a little bit scared that he wouldn’t be able to control them as well as he thought he could and drove to the nearest Ice Cream shop.

The thought of abandoning them in the Ice cream shop did cross his mind, but he obviously didn’t action it. It was one thing to think it; and a whole different thing to actually do it. He ordered their ice cream in cups, vanilla ice cream with caramel for Lindsay and cookies and cream for Alec. Malcolm ordered a cone with chocolate ice cream and sat with them by the window.

“So princess, have you got any new poo jokes?” he licked his ice cream and waited for her to answer. He felt slightly awkward being here talking with them because he always had someone with him. That someone usually being his sister, but so far, he thought he was doing great because none of them had thrown a fit.

Lindsay stuck her spoon on her ice cream and shook her head. “No. All the jokes I knew, you know them already.” She pouted and he gulped. _Please, don’t cry, please._

“Okay. I’ve got a joke for you, yeah? Why did the chicken crossed the road?”

Alec sneezed and a bit of ice cream fell on his shirt and Malcolm took a napkin and cleaned his nose and shirt as best as he could. “Do you know, Alec?”

“No, why does it cross the road?” he sneezed again and Malcolm once again cleaned his nose.

“What about you, Lindsay, do you know?” She shook her head and he chuckled.

“Well, so it could get to the other side of the road, of course.” He made a face at both of them and Alec laughed but Lindsay didn’t.

“That wasn’t funny, Uncle. That was stupid.” He gasped and clutched at his chest with his free hand.

“You’ve hurt my feelings, you monster.” She finally laughed and he smiled at her, relieved at how easy everything seemed. “Now let’s finish eating this so we can go home -my home- to watch the movie.”

* * *

 

She ended up buying the red dress, she had to. Clara didn’t know for what event she would use it but she reasoned that maybe she could use it for a date with Malcolm sometime soon. They kept walking and looking through the stores and Amy decided to go to a lingerie shop and Clara followed because she just wanted to see what they had and maybe buy some things for herself.

Amy grabbed some black lacy hot pants and a bra and showed them to Clara. “You should buy these. You’ll look great in them. It’ll make Malcolm’s head spin or maybe, just wear them for yourself or whatever but please, buy them!”

They were simple, just black lace and nothing more but Clara couldn’t deny that there was something sexy in them. It might be because they were black or just because she was thinking on using them on Malcolm but she acquiesced and agreed to buy them. “But you have to let me choose something for you as well, okay? Let’s see what’s around here.”

As they both walked through the shop, they realised that the only one who would agree with Amy’s skin tone and hair had to be black. It was no rocket science; really, orange clashed a lot with her hair while pink made her look a bit weird.

“So we get the same pair to woo our men? Sounds good to me.” Amy chuckled and hooked her arm with Clara’s.

“You already wooed Rory, so you have an advantage there.” Clara stayed silent as they paid. She thought that maybe it was a bit too soon to start thinking about sleeping with Malcolm but better be prepared, right? One never knows what might happen.

“Yes, I do have an advantage though. So, who’s doing the seducing part? You or him?”

“To be honest, I think it’s a bit of both but I want to get the upper hand. I didn’t tell you earlier when we started shopping but, well… I am certain that if you hadn’t knocked on the door and yelled my name, we would’ve made out already.” She glared at Amy and shrugged. “But perhaps it’s for the best. Drags on the wait and I want to take the first step. It’s embarrassing for them to be reminded who took the first step. At least Daniel was like that…” she fell silent and Amy squeezed her arm.

“Are you over him? I mean, it’s not good to begin a relationship when you have another man trapped in your heart and it would maybe end up hurting Malcolm and yourself in the process.”

She sighed and held onto her bags a little bit tighter. She didn’t miss Daniel at all, but she did miss the memories, that was all and it was a perfectly normal thing to miss. “I just miss the memories. We were really close, you know? Sometimes I get these... these feelings that I will never be able to experiment those kinds of things with any of the men I meet from now on, but Malcolm… he is different.”

Amy smiled down at Clara and chuckled. They kept walking around the mall and Amy sighed. “Yeah, he’s really different. I mean, you went from hot middle aged dad to… just plain dad, I believe. Did you see how he was dressed today? Are you certain that he doesn’t work in a pawn shop?”

Clara pinched Amy’s arm and scolded her. “Hey, be nice. I thought he looked great. He looked like those dads out of my college girl fantasies…” she sighed dreamily and held tighter onto Amy’s arm. “And how he smells… god! He smells like soap and shaving cream but he uses a nice shaving cream because it clings to everything, even his clothes. I’m not really sure if it is his shaving cream but I love it.”

“What about his hair turning grey? Although I have to say, his accent sounded Scottish to me, so I can say that you have at least good taste in men; though physically…” she made a face and Clara laughed.

“I’m going to punch you if you insult my taste in men one more time.”

That’s just how their conversations always went. Amy teased her about her tastes in clothes and occasionally men, and Clara would threaten to punch her or kill her in her sleep. Despite those little altercations, Clara considered Amy her best friend even though she hadn’t told her that explicitly. They had different tastes too. While Amy almost always opted for jeans and leather, Clara opted for dresses and heels. But lately, with Amy’s influence, she started adapting jeans and the like to her wardrobe. She liked the change, obviously, but she always got back to her dresses and high heels.

* * *

 

Malcolm had fed them, painted with them, drawn with them, he even played hide and seek with them and they still weren’t tired. He was hoping they’d fall asleep just so he could watch the news but alas, luck wasn’t on his side tonight.

“Alec, you’ve got to shower. You’re starting to smell, come on, hop, hop.” He said as he passed him by and went straight for the guest room to get their toiletries. Alec had followed him and he was yawning and rubbing his eyes sleepily. The boy looked just liked him, except for the fact that his hair was black and Malcolm’s was brown with a hint of grey, but it was practically seeing a picture of himself when he was a baby. Malcolm kneeled in front of him and brushed his hair aside, a smile playing on his lips. “Aren’t you a wee bit tired now?”  Alec shook his head and walked forward, putting his arms around Malcolm’s neck. “Okay, well, you just have to take a bath and we’ll watch the movie then.” Alec nodded and Malcolm carried him to the bathroom.

“I forgot to fill the fu… I mean, I forgot to fill the _flipping_ bathtub.” He scrunched up his face and sighed. All evening he was making efforts not to say profanities in front of them but by God, he didn’t know how much he actually swore and now that he was in a situation where he couldn’t, he found it so hard to believe that he swore that much. He patted Alec’s back and put him down on the floor. “That means you’ll have to take a shower.” He turned on the water and stood back. “Take your clothes off and hop in. I’ll be waiting for you outside the door, okay?” Kissing Alec’s forehead, he closed the door a bit and reclined against the wall. He honestly didn’t know how much time and effort went into raising children but a few hours with these two had taught him that to have kids, he’d have to find another job. One that would be flexible and award him the amount of time needed to raise good kids.

He slid down the floor to sit down, his knees drawn up to his chest. He put his elbows on his knees and interlaced his fingers. Malcolm was about to close his eyes when Lindsay touched his forehead with her little hand.

“Are you sick, Uncle Malc?”

He snorted and reclined his head against the wall. She was really a beautiful child as well, and she did have his hair colour and she too seemed to have his slightly curly hair, but at least it did look good on her. However, she looked more like her mother. Those children didn’t look like their dad at all. “No, princess. Just a bit tired, that’s all. Sit down.” He patted the floor besides himself and she sat close to him, her head resting just below his armpit.  “Have you enjoyed yourself so far?”

She nodded and took hold of his arm. “Yes. You draw pretty stuff, uncle.”

“I know, but that’s because I practice a lot. You can draw like that as well if you practice. Because ‘practice makes-’ , what?”

“ ‘Practice makes perfect.’ ” she kissed his arm, just on his bicep and he patted her head.

“There’s a good lass. I didn’t know you still remembered that.”

“You always say that, remember? Or are you going coo-coo in the head?”

He frowned at her, confused. “Sorry, what?”

“Crazy! Are you going crazy?”

“I’d like to believe I’m not.” He made a face at her and she laughed.

“You’re really crazy and ugly when you make that face.”

“Bah. You’re crazy as well. Alec! Out, now!”

“Okey-dokey!”

The two of them finally showered, he put on the movie and sat on the sofa with them, only to have them snoring in just 30 minutes and their little bodies curling up on his sides. His arms had always been along the edge of the sofa, it was as if his body knew that that was going to happen and knew that he needed his arms to move them eventually. He yawned and passed a hand across his face and turned off the DVD player. _Should I take them to bed now or should I just take them there when I go to bed?_ He looked down at them and caressed their backs _. I’ll put them to bed when I go as well._ He changed the channels to regular TV and watched BBC 2 for a while instead of just fucking off to bed.

He could really get accustomed to this, someday. Just getting home and smell the food his wife or the woman he had decided to invite to live with him in his place had made; hear the sound of his children running around or just the sound of a movie they were watching and at the end of the day, they’d end up just like this; him on his sofa watching over them as they slept. But he was too old and it seemed pointless to be thinking that. Plus the thought of never seeing his child grow up to be thirty fucked him a little bit and he didn’t want to leave a child of his orphan anyways. Even though he didn’t have a child, he already loved them enough to know that he couldn’t do that to them.

* * *

 

As Clara and Amy were getting in Rory’s car, Clara’s phone rang, so she sat in the back of the car quickly and picked it up, ignoring Amy’s curious gaze.

“Hello?”

“Clara! It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Uh yes…” she looked at Amy but she was no longer looking at Clara, she was instead having a quiet conversation with Rory.

“It’s me, Jamie. Malcolm’s mate, yeah? Anyways, I was wondering what you were going to do tomorrow.”

“Uh, nothing, really. Maybe clean up my place a bit. Why are you asking?”

“Well, you know Malcolm’s coming over here tomorrow with the kids and I thought of well, inviting you. To be honest, Malcolm would look like a… say, seventh wheel? Yeah, that. He’d look fucking stupid all alone because my darling wife here decided to invite one of her colleagues from work and one of our neighbors over to have a lovely fucking time and I thought, well, let’s call Clara.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.” She replied, intending to ignore what she thought was a not so subtle attempt at having her coming over there.

“It’s fucking not. But listen, I know lies and evasions when I hear them and that’s what you’re trying to do, yeah? So we’re going to do this. You send me your address, I’ll get you a cab to pick you up around 10, so you’ll get here around 11but you can’t tell Malcolm.”

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and bit her lip. “What if I refuse?”

“Well, I’m being nice here, yeah? The other option consists of me going down there; I know more or less where you live, so yeah. I’d go down there and fucking kidnap you. I’ve got tape and ropes in the trunk of my car, so don’t test me.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned back. “I’m feeling as if I have no choice, Jamie.”

“Oh, dear, no, you do have a choice. For example, you can choose how to agree with me on this. You can either say: ‘Yes, I’d love to see Malcolm honey-cakes.’ or ‘Yes, I will, I don’t want to be kidnapped.’ Both of those options have the same outcome. Malcolm will be accompanied and everything will be great. What you say? It’s for a good cause.” He sighed and continued. “I just don’t want him looking as glum as a fucking widow who’s millionaire husband didn’t left her anything.”

She chuckled and passed a hand across her face. To her, that idea was crazy. Malcolm wouldn’t know anything so that would practically be a surprise… was he even a man who liked surprises? She didn’t know. _Only one way to find out_ , she thought.

“Okay, Jamie. I’ll send you the address. But if he is mad about it, I swear to God I’ll blame you.”

“Fair enough.”

As she hung up, she couldn’t help but think she had made a grave mistake. However, it felt like it was a little too late to backtrack on that. Sending her address to Jamie, she  gripped the phone tight. _God, please, let him not be pissed off about this._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, next update it's here and a day early to boot! :P

When he woke up he noticed two things:

One: He actually slept the whole night.

Two: He was not alone in bed.

At some point yesterday night, he carried the kids to the guest’s bedroom and left their door open just in case they needed him. He had showered, dressed and tucked himself into bed on autopilot because he was _that_ tired. As he carefully changed from lying on his stomach to a sitting position, he remembered that at some point in the night Alec had gone into his room and had asked to sleep with him because he was scared of the monsters in the closet, apparently. Malcolm being as tired as he was, had agreed without a fight and told Alec to stay on the left side of the bed since he was already on the right side. He briefly remembered himself patting Alec’s head and telling him to go to sleep and that’s it.

But now it appeared that later in the night, Lindsay had come into his room and had also slept on the bed with Alec and himself. He stared at them for a bit and tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up next to his kids like this. Would he be a good father? Would he even have time for them? The smile that he had had in place a few moments ago vanished, leaving him with a huge sense of dread. Lately he had been thinking regularly about children, he didn’t want to think about them but he did. It was like being fucking fat and getting into a diet and while you were focused on dieting, it didn’t mattered how hard you tried, the looming smell of a pizza or something equally delicious was always near, clouding your judgment. If he applied that horrible analogy, he would be the fat guy and the diet would be not having kids because he was certainly past his prime to have them and he was focused on _not_ having them. The pizza would be the kids; everyone had them around and he just wanted that for himself but he knew he couldn’t and so, by sheer force of will, he wouldn’t.

As he swung his legs over the bed, he glanced at a clock with roman numbers he had on his wall –a gift from his sister- and he was not surprised that it was 6:35am. He always woke up at 6:30, every goddamn day. It was as if his body knew he couldn’t stay comatose for long because he had duties to attend to. Moving Lindsay to the right side of the bed, he tucked them both in again and went to the living room with both his cell phones in hand.

As he sat in front of his TV, Malcolm went over what he had to do for the day. Being the perfectionist he was, this meant that he would think on any viable thing that could wrong and possible ways he could remedy the situation. Sometimes he drove himself to a headache and he had no one else to blame but himself. Thankfully enough, this particular subject didn’t drove him to that but it was a damn near thing.

He laid down, put his phones on his chest and watched TV for roughly half an hour since there was nothing else to do. Like in the past days, the thought of texting Clara did cross his mind but he actually thought that perhaps a day away from her, without contacting her, would do them some good and it would also give him some perspective about what he really wanted from her. Malcolm still wasn’t clear on that. On one hand, he wanted a serious relationship with her, a relationship that might or might not lead to marriage. Though if he was honest with himself, getting married to her looked as appetizing as blowing up Number 10 sometimes did. But on the other hand, he didn’t want to marry her. If she adopted his last name that would be horrible for her, she would be judged because of it and he couldn’t have that. Also the fact that he would be robbing her of her nicer years and tying her up with 49 year old man who could get killed by some crazy civilian or worse; maybe he lived the average life span of humans and _whack!_ There went Clara’s best years; she wouldn’t be able to find love afterwards or maybe she would fall into the deep clutches of depression if she loved him enough and that was no way to live.

He checked the hour on his phone and seeing that it was already 7:10am, he decided to check on the kids. This time, he would take Dumbledore’s advice. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t remember it correctly. _It doesn’t do well to dwell on dreams and forget to live or something… fuck, I don’t care._ He felt it applied to every thought he dedicated to Clara and a future they might have together, he knew he was probably ahead of himself and right now, he wouldn’t dwell on those dreams because life was happening at the moment and he was missing it by thinking of her.

* * *

 

She woke up at 7:00am and her stomach felt like lead. She had the horrible feeling that today would be a horrible day, regardless of what Jamie had said, she didn’t think everything was going to be alright. She had a nightmare where Malcolm had called her a back-stabbing bitch or something equally hideous for her lying to him and that is what she was not comfortable doing here. She could lie; she did it sometimes, but now lying to Malcolm when they had already agreed on not lying to each other sounded like a low-blow to her.

Grabbing her phone from her nightstand, she debated whether to call him or text him. In the end, she decided on texting, she thought she could throw up at any minute just from the anxiety of it all and Malcolm’s voice might trigger that.

\-----

_Malcolm, do you like surprises?_

_-Clara_

\-----

 _Wow, so smooth, Clara!_ She honestly didn’t expect a reply as fast as she got it but she was happy all the same. The wait would have her chewing on her fingernails.

\-----

_Depends. When they’re of good taste. Why?_

_-M._

\-----

_No reason. How did it go with the kids?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Great. They played me around as if I were a fucking puppet. They’re still sleeping. Question: should I wake them up and cook them breakfast or cook breakfast and wake them up?_

_-M._

\-----

_I think you should let them sleep for a bit more and if they wake up on their own accord, you should cook breakfast. Did you have a nice sleep?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Ok. Best sleep I’ve had in years. But they sneaked in. Or rather my niece did because the other one had the decency to ask. They’re sleeping in my bed now._

_-M._

\-----

_Aw, that’s so cute! I would give my left leg to see that!_

_-Clara_

\-----

_That’s nasty and creepy. What are you doing?_

_-M._

\-----

Clara yawned and got out of bed to serve herself a bowl of cornflakes with milk.

\-----

_Just got out of bed. Getting breakfast now and I’m going to move to the living room to watch some TV. What are the news, Mister director of communications?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_I don’t fucking know. Turned on the TV but spaced out… are you working today?_

_-M._

\-----

_Nope. Free day!_

_-Clara_

\-----

As she sat on the sofa, with the bowl of cornflakes on the table, her phone started ringing insistently. It was Amy and she wondered what she wanted this early in the day. Amy was, by no means, a morning person and when she was, it was because something didn’t let her sleep.

“Mike and Ikes Sperm Bank, you squeeze it, we freeze it, how can I help you today?” she asked and dipped her spoon into the bowl.

She could hear Amy laughing and repeating what she had just said to Rory and then she focused on Clara. “Okay, that was pretty funny. I called to ask when you were due to go to Barnet. Because Rory here was wondering if you perhaps wanted to go have breakfast with us in that cafe near my place, the one you like.”

She left the spoon in the bowl, passed a hand through her hair and watched how it stuck on some tendrils. “I’d love to, but I just made myself some cornflakes and really, I can’t get that milk and cornflakes to go to waste!”

“Can you just put that in the fridge?”

“Amy, what the hell.!? You can’t just put that in the fridge. The cornflakes will get all soggy and disgusting.” She sighed in exasperation and as she was getting some cornflakes on her spoon a knock on the door interrupted her.

“Amy, wait, someone is-”

She didn’t got to finish that sentence because Amy was no longer on the line. Sighing, she grabbed a bathrobe and wrapped it around herself. As she opened the door, the smell of fresh coffee, and pancakes wafted inside her flat.

“Sorry, you needed some company and I just knew you were going to refuse.” ,said Amy with a mischievous grin as she stepped inside and opened the door wider.

“Sorry, Clara. I did try to stop her but you know how she can be when she doesn’t get her way.” ,said Rory with a shrug, while he held their breakfasts in his arms.

“It’s okay; I know she can be a handful. But no more stunts like this, okay? What if I actually got a man staying over?” ,she asked as she closed the door and directed them to the living room, only to leave for the kitchen in search of plates and silverware.

“Bah! You’d tell me. But anyways, let’s talk business.” She helped Rory divide the coffee cups and food into the plates Clara had brought. “You’re leaving to Barnet, when?”

“Ten.” She said as she poured sugar in her coffee. “But I should be getting ready by nine or so.”

Rory took the sugar container from Clara and proceeded to add some to his and Amy’s coffee. “You’d make it there around 11 because Barnet is pretty far away… what are you going to do there? A secret party in the middle of the day?”

“No. It’s better.” Amy grinned at Rory and then at Clara. “By what she told me, she’s going to surprise her sugar-daddy.”

Rory’s eyes widened and he faced Clara. “Y-you’re not actually a gold-digger, right? You need money or anything, you tell us and we help you.”

Clara laughed and brushed her hair back. “You’re too good for this world, Rory. No, he’s not my sugar-daddy. He’s a friend… although I may have agreed to be courted…” she glanced briefly at Amy and started cutting her pancakes in squares.

“Wait, so like, you guys are dating? The old man moves fast.” She teased and Rory scowled at her. “Or maybe it wasn’t him entirely… anyways, erm… he’s not that old; how old is he? 55? He looks younger, you should tell him that.”

“That’s because he _is_ younger, Amy!” Clara said but refused to comment more on the age issue.

Rory started talking about some cases he had had in his job so far as to save Clara from further embarrassment or getting mad at Amy, it was like this most of the times. When it was just the three of them, he acted as a buffer because Amy sometimes pissed Clara off. Amy didn’t get under her skin as much as she used to when they met, yes, she tended to be brash but that was just how she was so Clara accepted it and adapted. Now she only got pissed off at her over issues such as her taste in men and that was it. She thanked her lucky stars that Amy was already with a boyfriend and that their tastes in men were completely different; that is, until both of them started showing each other pictures of the actors they liked... then it turned into a contest.

* * *

 

He arrived at Jamie’s exactly at 10:15. Traffic had been a little bit heavy but at least, it didn’t caused him to be extraordinarily late. Malcolm has always been a stickler to being on time, when he got late to a place, it was either to annoy whomever invited him or simply because the traffic just wasn’t cooperating.

He had let the kids sleep, as Clara had advised, then made them breakfast when they woke up by themselves. On his little adventure to Tesco with Clara, he had bought gelatin and he gave them some for breakfast. Turns out that suddenly it wasn’t breakfast anymore, but a game. They just moved their plates and started giggling when the gelatin trembled. Lindsay had asked him a slightly troubling question; one he didn’t exactly answer.

“Uncle why does the gelatin trembles?”

He remembered how he had frowned at her, taken a gulp of his super black coffee, cleaned his mouth and shrugged. “Physics, science, I don’t know. One of those two or both of them.” _I don’t care either way; it’s fucking gelatin._

Once he parked his car behind another one, he switched off the engine and turned to the kids. With the breakfast and the trip to Barnet they had fallen asleep. However, he couldn’t stay in his car forever so he got out of it, pushed his seat forward and shook Lindsay’s shoulder gently.

“Princess, we’re here.”

She yawned and rubbed her eyes sleepily and Malcolm chuckled. “Didn’t sleep well last night, did you?” Taking a clean handkerchief from his trouser’s pockets, he cleaned a bit of drool she had in her mouth. Way back in his youth he would have been grossed out at cleaning kid’s boogies and drool but now he didn’t even cared.

Getting out of the way to let her get off the car, he helped her put on her coat. She was wearing some jeans that apparently were made of leopard print, brown boots, a long sleeved brown shirt and her black coat. Malcolm didn’t brush her hair because to him, it looked fine. He also didn’t meddle with it because he had no clue on how to style girls’ hair.

As he closed the door, he went to the other one to get Alec out. He shook him a bit but the boy simply refused to wake up, leaving him no choice but to carry him inside to Jamie’s house. Alec’s head was on Malcolm’s shoulder, drooling all over it, and his little arms were loosely wrapped around his neck, while Malcolm’s left arm was holding Alec up; he held hands with Lindsay with his right hand to walk together to the house.

He imagined the picture he painted and found that it wasn’t an unpleasant one. While Alec and Lindsay were dressed in almost the same way, except for the leopard prints, of course; he was dressed in a grey long sleeved polo shirt with his top button undone, a leather jacket with a hood, jeans that fitted his hips and legs just as they should and blue socks with black penny loafers.

Lindsay rang the door bell for him and he waited. Being like this made him feel like a divorced single dad who only got to see his kids on the weekends. He lips curled upwards a bit and the door opened. But it wasn’t Jamie or Sarah. It was an elderly woman with graying black hair.

“And you are?” she looked at him up and down and then she had the gall to raise an eyebrow at him. To say he was taken aback by this welcome was an understatement.

“Malcolm Tucker.” She had that superior air posh people typically had; he already hated her a little bit. “You must be Sarah’s mother. I was invited here by Jamie. I would shake your hand but my hands are busy at the moment.” With a tight-lipped smile directed at her, he inquired. “May I come in, ma’am?”

“Certainly.” She held the door open for him and he instinctively walked towards the living room. He could hear a few strained laughs –Jamie’s no doubt-.

The living room had six adults in it, all paired up into couples. Jamie introduced him to them but he didn’t thought of memorizing their names since he wouldn’t see these people more than once in his lifetime if he had his way. A few of them recognized his face or his name first and face later.

“I almost didn’t recognize you! You look… normal dressed like that.” One of the women told him.

He chuckled but just because he had to. “Can’t be always wearing my suit and tie, now, can I? Out of work, I don’t have to.” He smiled at her and bent low to talk to Jamie. “Get me out of here. Where are the girls?”

“Of course.” He nodded and addressed the rest of the people in the house. “I’ll be with ya'll in a few minutes. Remember, this is your home!” he smiled at them and ushered Malcolm and Lindsay out of the room.

“Bunch of wankers.” Jamie said as he trudged upstairs; Malcolm close behind.

“Tell me about it. I had the misfortune of meeting your lovely mother-in-law at the door. Horrid fucking manners.” As he remembered he was still surrounded by his niece and sleeping nephew he looked down at her and grinned. “Don’t tell your mom I said that, yeah? She’ll kill me.”

“Say what?” she smiled mischievously at him.

Jamie stopped in front of his daughters’ room and laughed at what Lindsay had just said. “She’s smart, that one.” He offered her his hand for her to shake and she did. “I’m Jamie, by the way. If you keep on like that, we’ll make a competent prime minister out of you.”

She blushed and looked down at her boots. “Thanks, Jamie.”

“What, you’ve got no name, hmm?” he kneeled in front of her and tilted his head to the side and she in turn, hugged Malcolm’s leg and pressed her face against his thigh.

“Lindsay.” Her voice was muffled and Malcolm patted her head.

“You’ve embarrassed her, Jamie. Open the damn door and let us introduce the girls, yeah?”

He grunted and opened the door. There were papers, dolls and the like everywhere in the room and there were four kids in it. Three girls and one boy. Jamie’s girls were 7 and 8, while the other girl seemed to be about 6 and the boy looked no much older than Alec.

“Okay, everyone! This is Malcolm say hi to Malcolm.” The kids did and Jamie’s girls got out the bed to hug him and he hugged them as best as he could. “And this is Lindsay.” He slowly pried her away from Malcolm’s leg and ushered her into the room. “And the sleeping lad here is...?”

“Alec. I believe that if I wake him up he’ll be alright.” He shook Alec a bit until he yawned and woke up. “It was about time. There are kids here, you can play for a bit, okay?” he asked as he set him down on the floor and he nodded sleepily and walked inside. “Take care of him, aye?” he looked at them seriously. “If something happens you will answer to me.” Jamie and him noticed a few scared looks and laugh in unison.

“Don’t worry about him. You’ll have to worry about me, aye?” Jamie smiled at them then got serious again. “But seriously, if you girls fuck something up I’m coming to get you.” He said to Annie who was the eldest. She nodded and he closed the door. “So, that’s settled.” He said as he glanced at his watch and then walked downstairs again.

“Who are all those people?” Malcolm asked as he took of his jacket and put it on a hanger inside the cupboard under Jamie’s stairs.

“Sarah’s friends. I forgot to tell you they were coming. Fucking forgot about it, it seems.”

Malcolm reclined against the cupboard and looked at him with a look that perfectly conveyed how he was not convinced by that shitty answer. Jamie rarely forgot stuff and when he was shifty like this, it meant that he was up to something. He began talking lowly as to not be heard by any of the guests in Jamie’s house.

“If you’ve done something you best come clean now. I’m relaxed, Jamie. If you’ve done something that might affect me in any way, I swear to Hades I will rip you limb from limb and feed you to fucking homeless people.”

Jamie just scoffed and shrugged. “Fuck all, I haven’t done anything, mate.” When he finished he refused to look at Malcolm. He had his hands in his pockets and that alone told Malcolm that he was relaxed and fearful of nothing because he apparently hadn’t done anything. However, Jamie was grinding his teeth and that was not a good sign.

Malcolm knew that just like himself; Jamie hated silences and more when they were filled with suspense. That was exactly the reason why he just stayed silent, pursued his lips and plainly stared at Jamie; waiting.

Jamie dragged a hand down his face and put his hands in front of him. “Right. I fucking did something. However, I won’t tell you.  It’s a surprise.”

 _Well, that was something_ , he thought. “Fine. It better be fucking hookers or a year’s free supply of Satsumas or else I’m going to be so disappointed.”

“It’s fucking better and it should be here in about-” he looked down at his wrist watch. “-30 or 25 minutes. Let’s go to the kitchen and have a few drinks and help me cook these fucking steaks.” They were already in the kitchen and he kept talking. “I was in fact waiting for you, because last time I tried to cook them, I burnt them and Sarah is complete trash at making them.”

With a roll of his eyes, he reclined against the counter, besides the fridge. “You wouldn’t fucking know how to tie your shoes even if I gave you a fucking map.”

“Fuck you very much; I already know how to tie my bloody shoes. Now, be useful and get the steaks from the fridge while I serve us some scotch.”

“I don’t like to be bossed around by a fucking Judas.”

“I did tell you it wasn’t me who leaked that Ben Swain was fucking racist, I told you that. Let that go and live in the present.”

“Well then.” He said as he took out the steaks from the fridge and put them on the counter. “I don’t like to be bossed around by _you_.”

“But you _do_ like being bossed around, eh? Is that what you’re saying?” Jamie teased as he looked at Malcolm’s back.

He momentarily tensed up until he released that Jamie was teasing him. “Fuck off.” He said and started seasoning the steaks.

* * *

 

He had had the drinks Jamie promised but something was still a bit off. He noticed the way Jamie started looking at his wristwatch and outside the window and it was driving him crazy. Fortunately enough for Jamie, he did know how to be a patient man and not push up for answers until he knew it was the right moment. They had sort of caged themselves in the kitchen because they simply couldn’t be in the same room as those other people. Malcolm refused to mingle because there was absolutely nothing to take out of it except some stupid chit-chat and he wouldn’t subject himself to the horror that was socializing. He wasn’t an introvert, per se, he just hated pointless conversations, that was all; and if he could do without them, he would.

When he was young, he could often be described as a passive-aggressive kind of guy. He was very persuasive and convincing, which were some of the characteristics that landed him a job as a journalist. Life had a funny way to twist your shit around because he was now practically working against journalists -only collaborating with a selected few- , and he loathed them all because now they were clearly the enemy. They always got their snotty-pointy-fucking noses where they didn’t belong. They wanted the truth for the people, they said; but when they had it, they only used it to point out the problems and blame people. In a way, he liked to think that he protected the civilians from the poisonous fangs of journalists but that would be a little bit hypocrite, wouldn’t it? He sank his metaphorical fangs anywhere he had to just to protect his political party and kill stories.

As he flipped the steaks to cook them the other way, he realized that while he was thinking, he had been just staring at the steaks. He walked over to the fridge to get some water and when he closed the fridge door he saw one of the women that had been in the living room. She had that predatory look that he didn’t like, at all.

“Need something?” he asked as he put some distance between them and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Not really. Just that you’re here all alone and I thought about giving you some company because it looks like you need it.” She said while biting her lip and looking at him in what only could be interpreted as a feeble attempt at being seductive.

He let his disgust show and looked at her up and down. He didn’t like women like her. He wasn’t against women getting what they wanted, but in his case, he didn’t like to be chased. He liked to do the chasing and in this situation, he didn’t wanted to be chased or do the chasing. “I don’t want your fucking company. I’d rather carve out my own fucking eyeballs, fry them and have them for a mid-night snack.”

“Oh, you have such a potty mouth.” She giggled and approached him. Thank the heavens that in that moment Jamie appeared in the kitchen and upon noticing what the woman was doing, he let out a long groan.

“Marge, can you fuck off for one fucking second? I know you and your husband are filing up for a divorce but Malcolm’s not fucking interested, yeah? Now, piss off if you don’t want me to tell him what you were trying to do here.”  She left with her head held high for the kitchen and Malcolm let out a snort.

“Since when am I not interested?” He opened the cap of the bottle and took a sip.

“Your fucking face had it written over it and anyways, I need you to help someone get inside. Can you go out and help them in?” he got out some cupcakes from the fridge and looked at Malcolm expectantly. “Well?”

“What are they, fucking invalid?” he asked as he screwed on the cap.

“They are not… I hope they stay intact though.” He grinned at Malcolm and tilted his head towards the outside of the house. “The cab should be here in any second. Wait by your car.” Jamie gave him money to pay for the cab and left for the living room with the cupcakes.

As Malcolm retrieved his jacket from the cupboard he realized one thing. Both Jamie and Clara had used the word ‘surprise’. They certainly were together in whatever scheme they were concocting. He went outside anyways. He figured that the only thing they could agree to was for her to come here because why else would Jamie send him outside to wait for someone? He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him but he couldn’t blow up just now. He needed his flame to be controlled until he got them both together and give them the bollocking of their life. If there was something he didn’t like, it was people meddling with his personal affairs.

Reclining against his car, he crossed his legs at his ankles and decided to have a cigarette to calm himself down a little bit. The cold cut at his skin and he could feel the tips of his ears getting cold. He puffed smoke and tried to get his hands warm by creating friction with them and zipped up his jacket.

The view was not that bad, either, trees lined up the streets and all the houses looked the same except for a few different colours and that was it. There was some patches of snow here and there but not much.

Ten minutes passed and still nothing. Malcolm was already by his second cigarette when he saw the cab drive up to him and stop just behind his car. He didn’t even look inside to see the passenger, which he was almost sure was Clara. He went for the door of the driver and paid him. By the time he did that, Clara was already out of the cab, jumping on the ball of her feet out of nervousness, he supposed.

He threw his half finished cigarette on Jamie’s lawn and just stared at Clara. What was there to say? He knew he had to say something and he had been thinking about different ways he could yell at her but right now, with her standing like that, so close and yet so far away; words failed him.

He resumed his position by his car and looked at her. “Come here.” He patted the empty side on his right and she complied, resuming a similar position.

“I figured it out about ten minutes or so before you arrived. I was –am, very mad at you and Jamie at the moment.” ,said Malcolm refusing to look at her but at the house in front of them.

 Clara nodded and decided to look at the house as well. “I understand but the way I see it, Jamie only meant to give you some company, that’s all.”

He grunted and started walking down the street, making Clara follow him. “Do I have to follow you like a puppy following its master? If you’re going to sulk just tell me. I can just take the tube back and be done with it.”

“I am not sulking.” He knew his voice betrayed him because he indeed was sulking while trying not to. “There’s no need for you to leave. We need to talk and if we don’t talk I’m afraid I might have more time to think and get angrier than I already am.”

“I can feel a big speech coming so we either turn back and recline against your car or walk a little bit more until we get to that bench over there.”

He strained his eyes to better see where the fuck the bench was but his long range sight was not as good as it used to. He just stayed silent until he could see said bench and started walking faster towards it.

Clara was jogging to keep up with his long strides but he didn’t care that much at the moment. That was quite a wee bit of punishment for her, he supposed. He stood in front of the bench, arms crossed over his chest.

“Sit. I talk, you listen. Clear?”

“Yeah. As long as I can talk after you’re finished.” She said with a roll of her eyes while she crossed her legs, and gave her full attention to him.

“First off, this was Jamie’s idea and therefore, he made you come here.”

“He didn’t make me come here. He gave me a choice and I decided to come by myself. He got me the cab, yes, but I agreed to come here.”

“Do you seriously think I am that dense? Jamie doesn’t fucking give anyone choices. It’s either you do it his way or you do it his way. Only difference is that one is worse than the other.” He rolled his eyes at her and started pacing with his hands on his trouser’s pockets. “What I’m going to say is going to sound as if I’m backtracking and maybe I fucking am but I have a good reason. This-” he said as he pointed between himself and Clara. “-is fucking ridiculous, you hear me? Fucking ridiculous! It won’t ever fucking work because of two important factors, which are your age and my reputation. Sweetheart, you’re still too fucking young for me.”

“Are you dropping me off, Malcolm?” she tried to keep her voice cold and neutral but on the inside she was hurt, deeply so.

“Might fucking be, I don’t know my own fucking mind when you’re around.” He sighed in exasperation and stopped pacing. His hand had gone to his face and he was biting the pad of his thumb and looking behind her. “Got to be honest with you, I’m thinking the unthinkable and I’m currently trying to fucking unthink it, yeah? A man my age hardly wants a short-term relationship. I’ve come to the point where…” he sighed and finally made eye contact with her. “Imagine you’re standing on a fucking cliff, right? Or just like a piece of fucking floating rock, I don’t give a fuck. Imagine that to one side, you have the concrete. I mean, you hardly see it but you know it’s there and getting to it while you’re falling is going to take a while. The other side… well, instead of concrete it has water and if you decide to jump over that side, you have a parachute, yeah? You might save yourself but also if you don’t know how to activate that parachute you’re going to fucking die, that’s a given. You are on that cliff and you have to choose one of those choices and right now they both look too fucking real to me. You start thinking about your life, as if it were a movie. My life only has one protagonist and that’s me, obviously. No wife, no children, no books or any shit written by me… I will leave nothing of me behind; besides the fact that I was a fucking bastard to everyone at work and got shit done. So where the concrete is, that represents the life I could keep living. Eventually I’m going to crash, die, people will celebrate and fucking forget about me. Now on the other side… there’s... there’s…” he gulped and he could feel his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Despite the cold, his face now felt uncomfortably hot and he could feel an annoying pressure on his head. Passing a hand through his hair, he plunged right ahead. “There’s you, but I don’t exactly know what you want to get out of this if it does work. I don’t know what do you want and that scares me, I’ve got to admit that much. So my question is: how seriously would you be taking this, if at all. Just tell me that I’m not just a hobby or that you’re trying to figure yourself out and you think I might help with that because sincerely I’ve got no fucking time for that.” He spread his arms and shrugged. “If you want to figure yourself out, Jamie’s wife is a psychologist, she can help, but I can’t.”

“Can I talk now?” At his nod, she continued. “This is not an experiment for me, I can tell you that much. As I told you before, I am willing to pursue a relationship with you, wherever it takes us; I thought I’ve made myself clear on that. Anyways, if it does lead to marriage, I think I would be willing to consider kids since that’s not something I have thought about. If I were you, I’d take the parachute and jump. If it doesn’t result, as least you could say you enjoyed the fall.” She said gently and stood up. “I’d be taking that fall with you; I already took it once so a second time would be no problem at all.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, not quite understanding. “With who?”

“Daniel. He was 38 or so when I met him roughly four years ago. Dated him for two years and it didn’t work because he wanted to keep traveling around the world, never settling down. It was exciting for a year and the better half of the second one, but it then started feeling unstable and I couldn’t just keep running. Not my style.” She smiled up at him and crossed her hands under her breasts to try and keep out the cold. Even though she was wearing jeans, boots and a coat, the cold still made its presence known in her bones.

He sat down on the edge of the bench, his elbows on his knees and his head resting on his hands. “That clearly knocks off my argument a little bit.” He gave her a smirk and looked down at his hands. “But the fact is that I just have about 22 years to live. What have you got to say about that?”

“I say that you should exercise and eat healthy so you can live up to 30 years more at least.” She stood in front of him and passed her hand through his hair until she reached the back of his neck. “It’s too early to think about death. You should just manage your issues as they come to you and do whatever you can to stop some problems from making themselves known.” Her other hand joined the first and she drew Malcolm’s head back so she could kiss his forehead. “Stand up, I’m freezing.”

“Well, sorry I can’t control the weather.” He said as he stood up and blew air into his hands in an attempt to keep them warm.

“Oh, Malcolm Tucker, the ultimate romantic. You haven’t seen many romantic movies, have you?” she raised an eyebrow at him as she looked up at him. “I will get a kink on my neck by looking at you. Open your jacket.”

“I am cold, in case you didn’t realize that.”

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” She unzipped it and he let her without so much as a word of protest. She wrapped her arms around his torso, her hands splayed on his back and she sighed in contentment. In turn, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head.

“You’re warm, at least.” She chuckled and sniffed him.

“Pardon me, but did you just fucking sniffed me?”

“Might have.”, said Clara as she pressed a kiss on his sternum, a small smile on her face.

He sighed and dragged his hands slowly from her back to her neck. He cradled her face between his hands and her face looked considerably smaller than it was between his hands. He passed his calloused thumbs across her cheekbones and smiled down at her. “I may not read much or watch any romantic movies but I’ve learned some things that are better learned from experience and practice, yeah? I’m better than fucking Romeo. Smarter and more handsome to boot.”

That statement caused her to laugh despite the situation she was currently in. She stood on the tip of her boots to try and reach his face better.

Upon noticing this, Malcolm leaned down slowly and her eyelids fluttered close while her lips parted. He closed them as well when he was close enough, and kissed her. It was a chaste kiss, nothing elaborate but he just stayed there, savoring the moment. After a couple of seconds, he couldn’t take it anymore. He bent his knees a bit and tilted his head to the side, putting more pressure into the kiss. She pressed her lips against his, and he could feel her smile. He broke for a second and gave her a another quick chaste kiss.

“So that’s that.” He said.

“I believe so. For now.” She gave him another chaste kiss, furrowed her face against his chest and hugged him tighter, just like he did and even though it was a simple kiss, it still wrought havoc to his heart and soul.

* * *

 

 Unlike on the outside, Jamie’s house was warm and filled with polite chatter. They told jokes that weren’t really funny and people laughed out of politeness. At least that’s what Clara could gather from being just five minutes inside it. Malcolm had already hanged her coat and his jacket inside the cupboard and they’ve been standing besides it for about 3 minutes.

Malcolm had his hands in his pockets and he kept looking towards the living room, glaring a hole on Jamie’s skull.

“Why don’t you just walk over him and drag him here instead of staring at him just like Edward did with Bella in Twilight?” she suggested while looking up at him.

He looked down at her with an annoyed expression and turned back to look at Jamie until he finally caught Jamie’s gaze. Jamie made as if he hadn’t seen him and that just angered Malcolm more.

“Well, I didn’t wanted to introduce you to these hags but it seems I fucking have to. So come on, chin up, smile, don’t let Jamie know with a look that I’m going to be on top of him like a mountain of fucking bricks.” He smiled down at her and guided her forward with a hand on the small of her back.

“Malcolm, don’t be quite so harsh, he meant well.” She whispered at him as they got closer to the group of people, her smile never leaving her face.

“I don’t promise anything, sweetheart.”  He smiled down at her and focused his attention on the group. “Right, well, this is Clara she’s my…”

He looked down at her for confirmation and she nodded while wrapping an arm around his trim waist. “Girlfriend, partner, whatever you want to call it.”

She received a few chuckles and all of them introduced themselves to her. However, a woman with Draco-Malfoy-blonde hair, whom she now knew to be Marge, approached the both of them while the others chatted quietly.

 “Well, I must say I am surprised.” Marge said while looking Clara up and down, a plastic smile plastered on her face.

“Pray tell why?” asked Malcolm with a tone of indifference while wrapping an arm around Clara’s shoulder.

“Um, well-” she looked at Clara. “-don’t you feel uncomfortable with having such a huge age gap between you two? I mean, he could easily be your father.”

Malcolm was going to retort to that but Clara beat him to it. With the same patronizing tone Marge was talking to her; Clara replied. “Not at all because I’m not a judgmental hag like you and besides, he could be my father, yes, but he isn’t, so I fail to see your point, ma’am.”

Malcolm rubbed Clara’s shoulder and gave Marge a cocky smirk. “If that’s all, we’ve got more pressing matters to discuss with other fucking cunts, do excuse us.”

As Clara dropped her arm from his waist, he once again guided her through the people with a hand on the small of her back until they were standing in front of Jamie and his wife.

“Sarah, here we’ve got this two.” He said pointing at both of them. “Molder and Scully, the partners in crime.”

“Without the sexual tension, I hope.” Sarah replied, causing Malcolm to laugh.

“Indeed, indeed. Now, I need to have a word with fucking pinstripes right here.” He said referring to Jamie and his choice of shirt. “Won’t be long but could you take care of Clara while I’m gone?”

“I can look after myself, thank you very much.” ,said Clara.

“Oh, don’t worry. He knows you do, he’s just reeling you up. Jamie does it all the time and oh, look!” she wrapped and arm around Jamie’s waist and kissed his shoulder. “He’s awfully silent which are the signs of a guilty conscience.”

“Fucking have a go at me as well, why don’t you, Sarah?” Jamie shook his head and looked at Clara then at Malcolm. “Let’s oil up and get fucking, yeah? Where do you want to talk? Outside?”

“Inside, please. Your bedroom will suffice.” ,said Malcolm while looking down at his wristwatch.

“How lovely. Make up sex does fix everything, doesn’t it?”, snickered Clara, which caused Sarah to snort and shake with silent laughter.

“Oh, that’s great, that’s fucking great!” exclaimed Malcolm as he followed Jamie to the bedroom. However, he stopped on the way upstairs and addressed the two women. “In any case, I do the fucking. Jamie’s got more ass than me.” With a wink directed at them, he climbed the remaining steps.

* * *

 

“We’re here. Yes, bringing Clara here was my plan. It seems you two are alright, now can we please fuck off downstairs? The more time we spend up here, the more time they have to think of us fucking.”

Jamie always went straight to the point, he wasn’t one to beat around the bush and that was one of the reasons why Malcolm held him in high esteem. “Good, now hear me well, James Fucking Macdonald, do not ever pull a fucking stunt like that one, got it? Or I will make the fucking Nazis seem tame in comparison of what I’m going to do to you.”

He was angry, Jamie could tell that much by the tone of his voice and the fact that he didn’t even raise his voice. Jamie supposed he had to thank Clara for that because it was obvious that his sails had been blown off a bit.

“Okay, okay. Got it recorded on my mind. It’s even going in a fucking loop telling me not to do that. Is there something else you want to tell me or can we fuck off now?” he looked pointedly at the door, which was behind Malcolm.

He acquiesced and turned around to open the door. As his hand closed around the doorknob; Jamie put an arm around Malcolm’s waist and hugged him sideways.

“Don’t get mad. Just remember that that was how you’ve got me and Sarah together.”

Malcolm snorted and finally opened the door. “To be honest, I programmed more sessions for you with her because you really needed to get your anger under control. Now at least you don’t physically abuse the staff. Except Nicholson, of course.”

“Keep lying, asshole.”

“To be fair-” he said as he exited the bedroom and walked towards the stairs. “-I was only getting you a shag since you couldn’t shut up about her. It ended up in marriage and I didn’t have a say in the matter. You did all that by yourself. So piss off and don’t be a meddlesome cunt.”

Jamie didn’t agreed or disagreed, Malcolm knew that much, but hopefully he would be able to take his threat to heart. He hoped so because he really didn’t know how else to cope with the meddlesome ‘fucktastrophe’ that was Jamie Macdonald.

* * *

 

“I am sorry to interrupt but I’m taking Clara to the backyard. Going to show her the swing set I helped to build.” He smiled at Sarah and without waiting for answer, stirred Clara in that direction. “Did you enjoy yourself at the hands of the shrink?”

“Oh yeah, she’s really funny. I might come here again on my own, sometime. She said she’d call me to have lady-talks.” She smiled up at him.

“Lady-talks? Is that the talk where you chatter incessantly about men, cooking, fashion and make-up?” he said as he opened the sliding door to the backyard.

“You’ve got that right, mister. Plus we talk about other things, it’s not strictly that.”

“Oh, there’s more to women than that?” he teased.

“Oh, fuck you very much, Malcolm.” She was laughing so there was no real harm on that remark. As she turned her head to look at the swing set, she noticed two kids running towards them –or rather towards Malcolm.

Crouching, so she was at eye-level with them, Clara asked, “Who are these beautiful kids?”

“‘Thing 1’ is Lindsay and ‘Thing 2’ is Alec.” He said as he stepped behind both of them and patted their heads as he presented them to her. “‘Thing 1 and 2’; this is Clara.”

“Hi, Clara.” They both said in unison, looking at their feet.

“Who would know you’d have a shy nephew and niece with how outspoken you are.” She chuckled and stood up. “Would you guys want a cupcake?” They nodded excitedly this time and she turned to Malcolm. “Do you want one?”

“No, I’m fine.” She nodded and left, leaving him with the kids.

Sitting down on the concrete floor, he told the kids to do the same and they sat in front of him.

“What do you think of Clara?”

“She’s pretty.”  Said Alec and Lindsay agreed.

“And her eyes are really big.” Malcolm chuckled but agreed nonetheless.

“That is true.” He turned his head just in time to see Clara coming towards them with the three cupcakes, two on her right hand and one on her left hand. She gave him the cupcakes as she sat down beside him and he gave one to Alec and Lindsay and the other one to her, but not before dipping his finger on the frosting and tasting it.

“Hey! If you wanted one I could have gotten you one.” She took a bite of it and offered the cupcake to him. “Want a bite?”

“No, thanks.” She shrugged and kept eating while he looked over at the kids. Their hands were smeared of frosting and he sighed.

“I will get some napkins.”  He looked at her and saw that Clara had some frosting on her nose. “Looks like you need some as well.”

The kids laughed and Lindsay started teasing her about how a grown up still didn’t know how to eat. To his great delight, Clara handled the situation very well.

* * *

 

The adults ate the steaks with mashed potatoes and cooked vegetables and the kids ate pizza. He resented them so much, he liked steak but pizza was infinitely better.

They were the last group to leave and they left around five and he offered Clara a lift. He was still surprised he could stay that long in a place with kids running around and people he didn’t liked, but the fact that Clara was there and most of their conversations were had with Jamie and his wife, might have done the trick.

Now as he drove from Jamie’s place, he turned to look at Clara, only to find that she had her head reclined against the window. Looking back through the rear mirror, he saw that both kids were fast asleep, and their heads lolling to the side as they snored softly.

“I’m not one for small talk…” he began. “But right now, I’m in dire need of small talk. Or do you want to listen to some music?”

Clara moved her head from the position it was in and looked at him curiously. “Small talk? Are you ill?”

He glared at her sideways but said nothing.

“Right, well. Small talk, it is. Uh…what’s your favourite colour?”

“Really, that’s the best you can do?” with a smirk, he answered. “Blood red. The same colour as the blood of my enemies that runs through the streets of Westminster and grey and black, occasionally. Blue as well… I like those colours, so no, I don’t have a favourite.”

 “That explains the shirt and the socks.” said Clara, “My favourite colours since you didn’t ask, would be red, black, brown and purple. Now, your turn.” She turned a bit in her seat, as much as the car allowed, towards him. “Can I sit Indian style here?”

“If you can, by all means do so, but take your fucking boots off first, yeah?” she did just that and sat more comfortably in her seat. “Right. So…” his left hand was resting on his thigh while he kept the other on the steering wheel. He started drumming his fingers on his thigh and looked briefly at her. “Right, right, got it. This Daniel guy… you traveled with him for two years, correct?” at her nod, he continued. “Which places did you visit with him?”

He was genuinely curious to know that because in case their relationship worked, he’d like to take her somewhere that bastard hadn’t been with her. He wanted her to make her own memories with him and only him instead of thinking: ‘Oh, I’ve been here twice. First with Daniel and then with Malcolm.’ And if she indeed had been to any place he liked with that guy, then he would make damn sure that her trip with him was the best of the best.

“Almost all of Italy. For some reason we didn’t go to Venetia… we went to Germany, India, Argentina, Peru, New York, California, Brazil, China, and Japan… I think that was it.” She noticed that he had started drumming his fingers on his thigh again. _A sign of anxiety_ , she thought.

 On impulse, she grabbed it gently, and started massaging the palm of his hand. The pads of his fingers were rough-ish, while the palm was somewhat smooth. His nails were neatly trimmed except for the one of his pointy finger and she supposed he chewed on it a lot. His fingers were long and the only sign of hair was on the back of his hand, and it was just a small patch under his little finger.

“You have the so famous pianists’ hands.” She commented idly.

“Yep.” He gulped and tried to restrain himself from snatching his hand back. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the contact; it was just that she was touching his hand with feather-light touches and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. He tried to disassociate himself from the situation to get control of his body instead.

“Do you play?”

“Not at all, sorry to disappoint you. But I do play the guitar if that’s of any consolation.” He replied with a brief smile at her and retrieved his hand back to make a turn to the right with the steering wheel. Instead of putting his hand back on his thigh, he took her hand and interlaced their fingers as best as he could, then put their joined hands on his thigh.

Her hand was on top of his and since he didn’t know what else to do with his hand, he started rubbing his thumb along hers, his eyes focused on the road.

“Hmm, do you sing?” she squeezed his hand and reclined her head against her seat.

“Clara, anyone can fucking sing if they want to.”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse.” She rolled her eyes at him. “What I meant to ask is if you sing and if so, are you good at it?”

“What’s good by your standards?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, just answer the damn question. God!”

He chuckled and shrugged. “I’d say I’m an okay singer. If I were a good singer, I’d be famous with a band and would have women and maybe men, throwing their undergarments at me. I am famous _but_ in government and all I get is shit from civilians and fucking politicians.”

 “And that’s understandable seeing as you’re such a delight to have around.” She squeezed his hand and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

He looked momentarily shocked but then composed himself. “Sweetheart, you have to reign with an iron fist to garner results. If I were a nice guy I’d be someone’s PA and would be serving them coffee whenever they fucking asked.”

“Do you have one?”

“Yes. Sam. She’s a very nice girl. I think she’s about your age? I’ve never asked.” He frowned. He had never asked, had he? But he supposed his assessment was right anyways.

Clara had gone silent and he scoffed. “Do not worry your pretty little head over that. I’ve never looked at her in that way. It’s sort of a relationship between an estranged uncle and his niece where they get on very well despite the fact that they don’t keep in contact much.” He released her hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Should I leave you first or the kids?”

“Whichever you think would be more comfortable to you. I have no pressing matters to attend to.” said Clara. She really wanted to spend as much time with him as she could and she noticed he was already putting some distance between them, physically at least.

“Well, I could leave you first so you can tidy up; hang out with your friend, what was her name? Amy?” she nodded.  “Right, well, you could do that and if  I take you with me to leave the kids at their home, well, my sister might be there, although I hope not. I hope it’s just Craig because he’s not as annoying as my sister.”

“Oh. Right, well, whatever you think its best.”

He gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white and cleared his throat. “Or… we could… after I take the kids home I could buy some pizza or ice cream or both and watch a movie a-at my place… and well, that’s not in any way an attempt to get inside your knickers. Well, that is not to say that I don’t want to get there because-” he laughed nervously and looked sideways at her. “-I really do. But that isn’t the main thing right now. I’d like to do it, yeah, but-”

“Shut up.” She laughed. “You were talking and all I heard was meh meh meh blah blah blah. Before you dig your foot deeper into your mouth-”

“Or ass.”

“I’m going to summarize what you were trying to say, okay? We get the kids to their home, buy pizza and ice cream, and go to your place, watch a movie and then you take me home. No expectations. Deal?”

“Deal. You see, I’ve never done that fucking shit I just did. I don’t scramble around for words; I always know what to say.”

“Clearly not always or you wouldn’t have done that.” She teased. “But it’s alright. You just need to think before you talk. It happens to the best of us.”

“Not to you, it seems.”

“Well, I think about what I’m going to say to you before I talk because I don’t want to make an asshat out of myself.” She looked down. “Sometimes looking at my past relationship, I cringe, you know… because I was so fucking naïve.”

He tutted. “I’m rubbing off on you, aren’t I?” he chuckled and patted her thigh. “Just be yourself. I’m fucking trying here to do just that and that’s why I’ve made an idiot out of myself lately. I thought I had outgrown that lame-ass fucking phase.”

“You thought wrong.”

“Clearly.”

* * *

 

The drive to his sister’s house was uneventful. Apart from some small talk and listening to the radio, that is. Most of the time they stayed silent and neither of them minded that much because it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.

As he parked his car outside his sister’s house, he tried to rouse them both -Alec and Lindsay- from sleep with Clara’s help, but to no avail. It seemed that both of them were heavy sleepers or maybe they were really lazy and didn’t want to walk to the house. So Malcolm did the only thing that made sense at the moment.

“You’d have to carry Alec and I’ll have to carry Lindsay, yeah? No problem with that?”

“Not at all.” She winked at him.

“Watch it.”

He got out of the car, moved the driver’s seat forwards, and proceeded to get Lindsay out; and Clara did the same with Alec.

It seemed that luck was on his side because his sister still wasn’t at home. She was a nurse, so sometimes she didn’t even make it home on time. Craig, on the other hand, was pediatrician and he didn’t work on weekends. Since he had his own consultory, he could manage his time occasionally and when he couldn’t, he just called a babysitter to take care of the kids.

Craig seemed to be waiting because as they got out of the car and where approaching the house’s door, it opened and Craig stood there with a big goofy smile on his face.

“I had to open the door just to see this.” _Another scot_ , Clara thought, judging by his accent.

“See what?” said Malcolm.

“You and a woman in close proximity without fighting!” he looked behind them and saw Malcolm’s car. He snickered. “And you allowed her to ride with you, damn, this shit just got real.” He chuckled and Clara looked over at Malcolm who was trying so hard not to blush and strangle the poor man.

“Shut the fuck up, Craig and hold the door open for us, if you will.”

“Absolutely.” He held it open for them. “Put them in their bedrooms, please.”

“Obviously, that’s what we were going to do.”

They put the kids in their respective beds and walked downstairs to find Craig at the end of them. “So, who’s the lady here, Malcolm?”

“None of your fucking business, step aside.” He growled. He was getting impatient with Craig. He was a fool to think that Craig would be better to deal with than his sister.

As Craig moved aside to let Malcolm through, he offered his hand to Clara. “Well, since this young gentleman here doesn’t introduce us, I will have to. I’m Craig the father of those two menaces you just tucked into bed.”

She shook his hand and grinned at him. “Nice to meet you, then. I’m Clara, Malcolm’s girlfriend, I think.”

Craig clasped her hand between both of his and turned to Malcolm with such a shit-eating-grin, and Malcolm wanted nothing more than punch him until he shat his own teeth.

“My, my! What is it with women wanting older men lately? I know it’s because we’re hot as fuck but really, I’m desperate to know why.” Craig said to Malcolm and then he turned to Clara. “I’m actually older than him, I don’t know if you could tell.”

“Well, the silver hair should have given me a clue.” She smiled at him. He was really a handsome man as well. She could tell his hair was black and it had little streaks of grey hair on it, making it look silver. He was like two inches taller than Malcolm and he had blue eyes. But where Malcolm was pale; Craig was lightly tanned.

He chuckled and released her hand. “Yes, yes, don’t let it fool you though. It still gets up.” He gave her a knowing smirk and turned to Malcolm. “You look like someone who’d like to punch me in the face. I know because I’ve gotten that look more times than I can count.” He put an arm around Clara’s shoulder and walked towards Malcolm. He put his other arm around Malcolm and walked them both to the door as he said, “Now, Malc, dear, don’t cock this up.”

“You know, I haven’t said anything to you because if I fucking say something you’ll have me here at least a for fucking hour and I don’t fancy getting a tumor just now, so please, let us fucking go, yeah?” he shrugged off Craig’s arm, causing said man to chuckle.

“Relax. Anyways, my dear, Clara, this guy gives you trouble, just slap him and he’ll reboot. Just like an old computer.” Craig released her, and Clara and Malcolm walked out towards his car.

“He’s worse than the Devil’s fucking snare.” He opened the door for Clara and rounded his car to get inside.

As he looked towards the house, he saw Craig doing obscene gestures with his hands. “Score one for the team!”

“Wanker.” He murmured and gave him the middle finger.

He closed the door and turned to Clara, who was laughing like a lunatic, tears streaming down her face.

“Now, what the fuck’s happening to you?” he inquired as he started the engine.

“I don’t know, he’s just…” she stopped to get air and continued, “-You know, we women grow up hoping men will catch up someday but apparently they don’t. How old is he?”

“52, I think. He acts like a teenager.” He replied and started driving away.

“See? You men are hopeless.”

“Excuse, you. Not all of us, I’m still very much a grown up.”

“Yeah, a bitter one, don’t deny it.”

He snorted and glared at her. “I would fucking push you out of my fucking car for saying that just now. Guess why I don’t do it?”

“Why?” she raised an eyebrow at him as she dug out her cell phone from her bag.

“No, you have to guess.”

She bit her lip to make herself look as if she was thinking. “Because I’m too pretty to die? Too young?”

He scoffed. “Those are true but no.”

“Mmm… because you like me?”

“Yes and since this guessing game is pissing me off, despite the fact that I fucking started it… it’s because I’d go to jail. It’s simple. It’s called commonsense, Clara.”

She gasped. “Wow, asshole.” She punched him lightly on his ribs.

“Fuck, shit, ow!” he massaged the affected area. “Don’t hit the bloody driver!”

“Or what?” she asked cheekily.

He didn’t answer. He just waited until she looked down at her phone again and reached out to mess up her hair.

“Malcolm!” she scolded.

“Clara!” he said mocking her.

“I will get you back for that.” She turned the rear view mirror to face her and glared at Malcolm.

“I haven’t got nearly enough hair to mess up.” He dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“I didn’t say that was how I was going to get back at you. I have my ways, as I said, I well get you back for that. Count on it.”

“I’d like to see you try.” He smiled at her and paid attention to the road . _First, call the pizza shop then Tesco for the ice cream_ , he thought as he looked at Clara out of the corner of his eye. She was pouting and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again but he restrained himself. First, because he was driving and second because she appeared to be a little bit mad at him. _Best let her cool off instead of kissing her and having her punch me in the fucking face. You never know how a pissed off woman might react, no matter if she’s faking it. They’re good actresses after all._

* * *

 

He had left Clara for a bit as he went to buy ice cream and came back to her with the ice cream and a chocolate bar. The last item was something he wasn’t going to buy, initially, but he thought it might be a good way to test the waters with her and gauge how mad she was with him.

As he got in the car with the plastic bag, he put the ice cream in the back seat but not before taking the chocolate bar and tapping her on her thigh with it.

“Bought you something.” He said innocently while looking at her with a concerned expression.

“So I see.” said Clara, refusing to look at him. She wasn’t mad at him, not at all, but she wanted to see if he would grovel and offer an apology.

As she sat with her arms crossed under hear breasts, he decided to caress her thigh and her arm with the chocolate bar. “I know you want it. I saw you had some fucking wrappers of it in your living room, on the table under that flimsy smutty novel.”

The corner of her lips rose upwards but she tried to keep her serious facade. “Unless you offer me an apology, I am not going to take it. Or look at you.”

He reared back and tapped the chocolate bar to his lips, his right arm taking hold of his left bicep. “Darling, this is my fucking apology. I most definitely do not grovel nor do I apologize unless it is something serious. And this is not it.” He leaned forward again and kissed her temple. “However, there are fucking exceptions, aye?” She turned to him and he gave her a smile without showing his teeth. “Good girl.” Taking hold of the back of her head with the hand that was in possession of the chocolate bar, he kissed her forehead. “Now we go to my place.”

He put on the seatbelt and started driving to his place while Clara unwrapped the chocolate bar.

“I didn’t think you’d see them. They were under that book because I was hiding them.” She took a bite, and offered him a bite as well while waiving the chocolate bar in front of his face.

“Clara, I’m driving. It would be a shame if I crashed. What would the fucking newspapers’ headlines say? Probably something like: ‘One of the most feared ‘spin-doctors’, Malcolm Tucker, has crashed because his alleged girlfriend, Clara Oswald, was waving a chocolate bar in front of him.’ Granted, that title it’s too fucking long but you get my point.” He said, moving away her hand.

She snorted but said nothing. She had a clever reply to that comment but decided she didn’t want to inadvertedly breach some invisible line they had between them. As he drove to his place, she played with the radio a bit until she came across a station that was playing ‘You give love a bad name’ by Bon Jovi. She forgot everything about the chocolate bar and started singing and dancing in her seat.

Malcolm left it for about 15 seconds and changed stations. Almost immediately, Clara changed it back.

“Malc, you can’t just change stations when Bon Jovi is singing. Rude!” she slapped his thigh and kept singing, using the chocolate bar as a microphone.

Malcolm supposed the song wasn’t so bad after all and sang it under his breath while looking at her out off the corner if his eye. If he was surprised by her behaviour, he didn’t mention it nor did he show it. He was just content to see her like this, being her crazy-self; it seemed, without a care in the world. He realized that he was never going to be or feel this carefree and he didn’t mind. Clara could be crazy for both of them, he knew she could.

* * *

 

They haven’t been in his place a minute and the pizza guy was already there with the pizza. _If only cops where as fast as these guys,_ he thought. Malcolm told the security guard to let him through and waited outside the door leading to his apartment for him. He paid and gave him a tip, then slipped back inside. He had told Clara to make herself at home, it was practically something he told the few people he liked when they came over, but she seemed to have taken his meaning to heart because she had already placed on the rectangular coffee table in his living room, napkins and glasses filled with Coca Cola. He put the pizza on the table and looked around.

Her coat was still in his car, because she had left it there, but her boots were besides his couch and she was quite probably walking around his place in her socks. He walked to his room but stopped when he noticed that the bathroom’s light was on. He knocked on the door. “Clara, you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Just washing my hands.” Her muffled voice said.

“Right, okay. Well, dinner’s on the table.” He went to his room and hanged his coat on a coat hanger he had behind his bedroom’s door and took off his shoes, leaving only his socks on. Walking out of his room and into the living room, he saw Clara sitting on the armrest of his sofa, looking down at her phone and worrying her lower lip.

“Do you have any movie in mind?” he asked as he approached her.

“Yes and no.” she stopped him with her hand. “Wait a bit, Malc.”

He shrugged and took a sip of one of the two glasses. As he looked at the rim, he noticed that the one he had taken was Clara’s glass because it still had the shape of her red lipstick on the rim. He put it down, hoping that she didn’t notice and took his.

“Okay! That’s done. Where are the movies?” she looked up at him as she put her phone on the table.

“Well, uh… do you want some mystery, drama, comedy or a horror movie?”

She bit her lip. “I really don’t know.” She stood and got close to him. Fiddling with the three buttons of his polo shirt, she asked. “Where. Are. Your. Movies?”

He gulped as he looked down at her little hands playing with his buttons. “In my bedroom. You knew that already…” he smirked at her and seized her hands. “That’s why you’re asking. You will go nowhere near it.”

She pouted. “Why not?”

“Because…” he whispered. “I can’t be with you in my bedroom. You can go, of course. But I will stay here.” He smiled at her and ushered her away. “It’s exactly the first door to your left.”

While she checked out his movies and possibly judged his taste on that regard, he sat on the right end of the sofa, opened the cardboard box and got himself a slice of pizza while he turned on his DVD and waited for Clara to bring the movie. All she had to do was put it on the disc tray and done.

“You have way too many movies but this one caught my attention and you definitely need to see it.” She said as she started walking from his bedroom towards him, the lights were still on and he could see perfectly which movie she was holding in front of her for him to see. She was grinning like mad and her eyes were sparking with mischief.

He shook his head vehemently, still with his mouth full of pizza. “I’m not fucking watching ‘Love Actually’ again. What in the actual fuck?” he finished masticating it and swallowed it. “I thought I had gotten rid of that shit.”

“You clearly thought wrong.” She walked towards the DVD, put it on the disc tray and walked back to the sofa. The sofa had three cushions and she sat between the middle cushion and the left one. She even had her feet up to her chest and her arms circling her legs.

Malcolm passed her a slice of pizza and she ate it as they saw the trailers for other movies. He fast-forwarded them all and played the movie. Five minutes in and she still hadn’t moved from her position.

“Well?” he inquired as he turned towards her. His right arm was resting on the armrest while his left arm was along the back of the couch, his legs spread, and overall, he was the epitome of comfort. “You are oceans away. Swim closer, I can’t reach you. The less you could do is cuddle me as I suffer through this horror once again.”

She shushed him but complied, not before giving him a slice of pizza and getting one for herself. She cuddled close to him, her head on his chest and an arm behind his back. As she did that, he wrapped his left arm around her and played with her hair.

“Why did you buy it if it is so bad, hmm?”

“I didn’t. That was a birthday gift from Jamie. We give each other things we know the other will hate for our birthdays. He got me this movie and I got him ‘The Notebook’.” He chuckled and Clara could feel the vibrations of it on her cheek and she smiled.

“Ah, that explains it. For your information, there’s no reason to hate this movie.” She pinched his nipple and he tried to sooth it quickly by passing his hand over it.

“Don’t pinch my tits again unless we are in a sexual situation.”

She chuckled but said nothing. As he started making snide comments about their haircuts or whatever they said, Clara resorted to putting her hand over his mouth to stop him from talking. But the plan backfired on her quite splendidly when he started licking her palm with the tip of his tongue.

Clara debated on what to do. She wanted to stop him from distracting her from watching the movie, that was almost halfway done or she could simply let him do whatever the hell he was doing with his hand and see what happened. She opted for the latter since she had seen the movie countless of times.

She tried to ignore what he was doing, she really did, but once he brought up his hand to hold her in place while he kissed her fingers and pressed lingering kisses on her palm, she knew she had to do something.

“Hand fetish?”

“Hmm?” he stopped kissing her hand and looked down at her.

“I was asking if you had a hand fetish.” She clarified as she looked up at him.

“Ah.” The ghost of a smile crossed his face and he released her hand. “I was just making out with it since you were so engrossed in the movie. I heard the sighs when fucking Colin Firth appeared on TV.” He snorted and the hand that was previously holding her hand went to caress her knee instead. “Met him once. Great lad but I don’t understand why women swoon over him.”

“Well, you wouldn’t understand because you are not a woman nor are you gay. But he’s just so…” she sighed and he rolled his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about Colin Firth.”

“What do you want to talk about then?” she bit her lip, drawing his attention to it.

He licked his lips and looked at her in the eyes. “I preferred it if we didn’t fucking talk, yeah?”

 _Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit!_ She gulped her nervous response down and tried to call forth her bravery. Right when she needed it, she couldn’t find it. Typical, really, as that sneaky trait seemed to be a real fucking bitch and abandon you when you really needed it. She decided to throw caution to the wind and moved to straddle him and unsurprisingly enough, he let her.

Malcolm’s gaze was predatory; his hands traveled a path from her thighs to her hips, holding her in place. She in turned, leaned forward and tilted his head back, her elbows resting on his shoulders.

She kissed his chin and sat back as he moved his head forward in the hopes of kissing her properly.

“What did you had in mind then?” she passed her thumbs over his sideburns as she cupped his head.

He raised his eyebrows at her and his hands tightened on her hips. “You are a fucking tease, you know that? I could lay you down on this sofa right now but I won’t.”

“Oh? Why not? Because you like being bossed a bit by me?”

“Yes, I mean…” he laughed and licked his lips. “Clever move, but apart from that, I won’t because I want to see what you’d do now that you have me in this position. Probably nothing, but I have high hopes.” He smirked at her and saw the fire in her eyes roar to life. He was testing her and pressing some buttons to see how she would react.

“So, that means I can do anything to you?” he nodded and she smirked. Moving his head to the side, she licked a path from his neck to his jaw to see what he would do. His breath hitched, but other than that, he was intact. She decided to leave a trail of kisses on the other side of his neck. Moving his head to the other side, she began pressing lingering kisses. She looked at his face to see that his eyes were close and his mouth was slightly agape.

Clara moved her hands from his head and trailed them down his arms and forearms until she reached his hands, which were currently resting on her hips. She grabbed them and moved them to her ass. If Malcolm was surprised at this development, he didn’t show it because he grabbed them but not with as much force as she knew he could. He was restraining himself.

She kissed him behind his ear and whispered. “Now, if you could hold my ass tight, that’d be lovely.” She didn’t know what possessed her to say that but she was glad she did, because the thrill she got when he indeed grabbed her ass tight was enough to leave her giddy with excitement.

“I love your neck, I really do.” She said as she kept kissing it. “But I’d rather make out with you, I don’t have much patience.” Followed that statement, she did just that. She gave him a soft kiss and she was glad he didn’t try to take control over it. He was just letting her take the reign of things for now and she liked that.

She pried open his lips with her tongue and tilted her head to the side to get better access to his mouth. As they kissed, he squeezed her ass in just the right moments and that feeling had her feeling lightheaded.

Malcolm was content to let her take the reins, he didn’t cared about who dominated the kiss, he was just content to be kissed by her while he was handing a handful of her ass. By no means was he a man that preferred big asses or big tits, that was inconsequential to him but right now, he was evaluating that situation and he decided that yes, he may very well be a man that preferred big asses.

His heart was beating way too fast, adrenaline was coursing through his veins and every place in his body felt too hot. His cock was certainly interested in the situation and he was really proud he could keep the old boy down as long as he could. He thought they’d been making out for about ten minutes, occasionally coming up for air but then getting back at it again. The movie was over and what was on screen was the credits.

He had been grinding Clara to his crotch like a hormonal teenager and he decided to end the kiss by biting her lip and giving her a chaste kiss.

“I think it’s time to get you home.” his voice sounded rough and even though he said that, his actions said otherwise because he had started kissing her neck, making Clara moan.

“Yes, I think you’re right.” He released her from the circle of his arms and she stood. As she righted her clothes, -her shirt specifically because it had ridden up a little bit-; he was extending his arm to the other side of the sofa to get a pillow and cover his not so little problem while hoping she didn’t see.

As faith would have it, she noticed and she gave him a satisfied smile as she bent to get her boots from besides the sofa. “Glad to see he’s up and kicking.”

“Fuck off, darling.” He left the pillow on the sofa and picked up the remaining four slices of pizza as she sat on the sofa to put on and tie her boots. “I assume you want two for you?”

“Yes, please.”

He walked off to the kitchen to get both of her slices in a bowl and he did the same to his remaining slices. He put his in the fridge and reclined against the counter to get his problem under control.

He had been chilling there for a while because Clara entered the kitchen carrying the used napkins and empty glasses. She put them in the sink and turned to him. “Okay?”

“Yeah, succeeded getting my cock under control.” He gave her a crooked smile and passed a hand along his hair. “Just thinking that we didn’t eat the ice cream.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll use that some other time and besides, I can’t stomach it. My stomach is doing summersaults and whatnot.”

Now that she admitted it, he was glad he was not the only one feeling like that. “Welcome to the club. We should get fucking t-shirts.” He released a sigh and slung an arm over her shoulders. Kissing her temple, he said. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

* * *

 

As they drove to her place, she had been holding his hand and looking out of the window with a peaceful expression. She felt as if she was walking through clouds, though she knew that was impossible because clouds were fucking water mists and she would fall as she looked at the ground. So maybe, she felt as if she was walking through cotton candy, since that was as soft as the clouds looked and hypothetically speaking, she thought she wouldn’t fall through that.

She was holding onto his hand because some irrational part of her though that if she didn’t keep in contact with him, he’ll disappear forever. The logical part of her told her she was being overly fucking stupid but alas, she couldn’t help it.

When he parked in front of her building, she sighed and pouted. Malcolm had the nerve to chuckle but she didn’t scold him because she could tell that he was amused at her reaction.

He nevertheless released her hand and got out of the car to open the door for her. As she got out, he bent to retrieve her coat from the back seat and wrapped it around her.

“When will I see you?” she asked as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“”Hmm, when I see you.”

“And when’s that?”

“When I see you.” He replied again, a smile playing on his lips. He didn’t look much younger when he smiled since more wrinkles appeared on his face, but his smile was beautiful to her, wrinkles and all and she didn’t give two shits about that.

“Stop it.” She slapped his chest and stood on tiptoes to kiss his chin since it was the only thing she could reach if he didn’t bent his head a little bit. “Give me a date.”

He sighed. “I really can’t. I don’t know how work is going to be this week but I’ll be in contact, yeah?” he caressed her hips for reassurance.

“Alright, I’ll be waiting.” She smiled at him and he smiled back.

“Thank you for spending the day and night with me.”

“You’re welcome. I’d gladly do it again.”

He bit his lip to keep himself from smiling again and kissed her briefly. “Right. Good night, Clara.”

“Good night, Malcolm.” She pressed herself close to him and kissed him. Her kiss was more lingering and as she ended the kiss and started opening her eyes, she noticed he was looking at her already.

Stepping back from her, he tilted his head towards the building. “Now, get the fuck inside so I can prepare myself mentally for tomorrow and sleep a bit.”

She rolled her eyes at him but did as she was told. He watched as she got inside safely, and that was when he finally got inside his car and drove home. Today was more than he could have hoped for, it was a fucking rollercoaster of emotions, certainly but it was good. Tomorrow and maybe the rest of the week would be shit, so he was glad he had these memories with Clara, his niece and nephew fresh in his mind to help him through the week.


	5. Chapter 5

_You okay?_

_-J_

\-----

He had been receiving texts like that one from Jamie since that fateful day, five years ago, when he had taken the habit of drinking himself numb. A part of him rejoiced in the fact that he had people that cared about him but a part that was larger than the other one, was annoyed by it.

It all had happened on the 12 of January of 2010. He had woken up with excitement in his veins and a bit of nervousness as well. After all, it wasn’t everyday that you proposed to someone you loved. Clementine had been his girlfriend for roughly three years and he had thought that perhaps, he needed to take some measures and make her his while he could. He had offered her to buy a house so they could move in together, but she had refused. He had found that quite strange but didn’t thought about the implications of that. He had also offered her to move in with him but she had said no, and that she liked her place too much and he could understand that, so he didn’t questioned her further.

He was going to propose on Christmas Eve of 2009 but the timing never seemed right. They were always surrounded by people and he couldn’t get the chance to do so, and on the 24th at night, when they were really alone in his place, he thought of proposing right after they finished making love, but she had ran and said that she needed to decorate the presents. When he protested, she said that she loved him very much and wished she could stay, but that she couldn’t leave that for tomorrow. He had nodded and let her go, what could he do? He had been too blinded by love to question her or tell her that he would take her home first thing in the morning.

December and New Years passed and he still was in possession of the ring he had bought her. He had often founded himself looking at it and thought about how pretty it would look on her delicate fingers. She was gorgeous and she was 3 years younger than him, but she looked a bit younger than she really was. If he was honest with himself; he would have given her the Earth, the stars, anything she wanted and more. She had the greenest eyes he had ever seen and black hair, a few freckles on her nose, but he found all that cute and endearing even though she sometimes didn’t liked her freckles.

The first week of January passed, and he still had not had the balls to propose. On the second week, he had decided that enough was enough. He would propose and she would say yes, of course; he knew she would. Then they would leave for the weekend and come back for work the next week. He had planned to take her to Paris, since he knew she always wanted to go there, and it was a romantic city so it would play right into his plans.

The night before she had stayed over, -something that rarely happened- and he was joyous that she had stayed. He had done a little begging and she acquiesced. Instead of asking her during the night, he had asked in the morning instead. He hadn’t told anyone, not even Jamie, about his plan because he had not wanted someone to accidentally spoil his surprise.

He had gotten up first, since she was a heavy sleeper, and had kissed her lightly on the lips. He had then proceeded to put on a black shirt he had found lying on the floor along with his sweatpants. While he opened his nightstand’s drawer, and took out the red velvet box that contained the ring; he had revised what he was going to say. He had had more than enough time to memorize it, after all. He had put it in the pocket of his sweatpants and gone to the kitchen to prepare her breakfast. He knew how she liked her eggs, boiled, not scrambled, and he had done them just like that. He had also fried bacon, toasted some bread and made some pancakes for her. She did eat a lot after they had sex, so he knew that his food wasn’t going to be rejected. He had prepared her plate; put it on a wooden tray along with cranberry juice –her favourite- and grapes.

As he had taken the surprising short journey from the kitchen to his bedroom, he had felt his legs shaking and his breath coming in short gasps, and knew he had to relax. He had stopped on the way inside his bedroom and counted from 1 to 10 to calm down, and he did. As he entered, he found her stirring and chuckled; effectively releasing some of the tension from his body.

“Finally the sleeping beauty awakens, eh?” he had said as he put the tray besides her. She had looked beautiful that morning, bruised lips and wild hair, a look he didn’t think he would ever tire of, but he was now certain that if he’d see her ever again, he would definitely strangle her to death, and that was saying a lot because he didn’t like violence much.

“Yes and you made me breakfast. Thanks.” She had smiled at him and he had smiled back. He had taken the tray from besides her and put it on her lap. While she ate, he had fingered the box through the outside of his sweatpants, waiting for the right moment, but she had been eating so damn slow and the suspense was killing him. He had gone to get a quick shower then dressed in his suit as she ate the remaining grapes.

The right moment had come when she finished her breakfast. He had put the tray on the nightstand and instead of getting on one knee; he had sat beside her and looked at her for a few seconds, without saying anything.

She must have noticed the look he had been giving her because she immediately looked curiously at him.

“Malcolm, are you alright?”

“Not really, I’m nervous.” He had said honestly.

“About what?” she had tucked her hair behind her ears and he had followed the movement of her hands, and then looked down at his hands.

“You know I fucking love you, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And you love me as well, don’t you?”

She had stayed silent for a bit and as he had made eye contact with her, her frown turned into a small smile. She had touched his cheek and caressed it slowly. “Of course.” She had said and then dropped her hand from his face. It was a lie, of course. But he didn’t know such a thing at the moment despite the fact that he should have.

He had gulped; he had been feeling as if he was going to die at any second, and had decided to not waste anymore time beating around the bush.

“You know… when two people love each other and want to be together, everything is possible, yeah? I fucking love you… way too much and we’re not getting any younger!” he had looked at her and had taken her hands in his. “Clementine, I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you. There’s no one I’d rather be with; but you. I want to get old with you.” He remembered as he had released her hands, gotten the red velvet box from his pocket and opened it. “Will you marry me?”

She had been speechless, of course. But nothing happened like he had imagined it. She had told him that she wasn’t ready for an engagement and left. She hadn’t even cried, for fucks sake!

However, he did cry.

A lot.

That day he was supposed to be on his way to work but he hadn’t felt like it. Instead he laid on his bed crying like a baby, albeit with a little more anger on his part, and had thrown the velvet red box at the wall. He had felt angry, weak and humiliated. Nothing seemed to matter anymore and work certainly wasn’t in his top priorities right then.

He had sent her texts throughout the day, asking for an explanation of why she left like she did. He wouldn’t question her on why she hadn’t responded to his marriage proposal. He understood that some people simply didn’t wish to marry.

In a last attempt to reach her, he had called but she hadn’t answered.

He had drowned himself in alcohol that day. He drank nearly all the bottles of scotch he had; there were roughly 8 of them. He had kept getting them for Christmas from many people and he didn’t know why. Just because he was Scottish that didn’t meant he was a drunkard, right?

It was late and she still didn’t called, so he once again called, and she answered.

“Malcolm.”

“Clementine, I-I’ve tried to reach you.” His speech pattern was slurred, but still a bit comprehensible.

“Yes… I was… occupied.”

“I just… want to know if we’re… fine? I love you... Come back, yeah? W-we need to fucking talk.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I’ve got something to tell you, Malcolm.”

“That you’re… coming back, aye?”

“No… I can’t… be with you. Malcolm, I’ve… well, I’ve been having another relationship.”

“What the fuck? I… don’t understand. But we’ve been together for three years? We love each other!”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough, Malcolm.”

That was what broke him and he had started crying in earnest.

“How fucking dare you, you stupid fucking bitch!?” he had yelled at her. He had never called her a bitch like that and even though she certainly was one, he had felt the need to apologize. “I’m sorry, babe. Please… come back... I-I need you… I forgive you but please, don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry, I really am, but I just... can’t.”

She had hung up, leaving him alone to wallow in his despair.

He had completely missed work and it had been about 7pm and he was still wearing his suit, drinking his 5th bottle of scotch, and he had ignored Jamie’s message completely. It simply asked if he was okay but he hadn’t bothered to reply. He was simply not alright and he doubted that he would ever be after going through that humiliation.

Remembering that day made him feel like shit, but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to, and thinking about the conversation he had had with Clementine, still made him feel shame because he wasn’t that drunk when she had answered. He wished he had been damn fucking drunk as to not remember that conversation. It haunted him since it was the only time someone had fucked him up real bad.

\-----

 _I am. Don’t come fucking barging into my flat tonight. There’s no need to do so. I won’t drink myself stupid because I don’t fancy waking up in a hospital._ _I am going to work._

_-M._

\-----

He had spent nearly three days in the hospital to detox and it had not been a pleasant experience. None of what happened had been a pleasant experience but it had been one hell of a life lesson. He had learned that no matter how much you loved someone, you couldn’t make them stay with you, no matter how much you wanted them to.

A week after the whole event, he had retrieved the ring from the floor because he hadn’t bothered to pick it up before, and sold it. He got enough money to pay part of his Aston Martin. The car had been an impulsive gesture of him, but it was one he didn’t regret. Now all he had reminding him of that day were the memories and the car, in some way. But his car wasn’t tainted with the memories of her, or anything of her. It symbolized, in a way, better days to come for him.

His car was out of limits for women. He never ever got them inside his car. Those he had slept with through the years to follow never touched his car, and even if they were invited to the same party or meeting, he would refuse to take them with him. The fact that Clara had been in it twice was either a sign that he had gone mellow or that she was really the ‘Harry Potter’ of his life.

He wouldn’t like to think that she was the ‘chosen one’ for him, he really did, but he couldn’t help himself. She was something else entirely and he felt as if he could really be himself with her.

With Clementine, it never felt that way. He couldn’t swear in front of her and when he did, she gave him a look indicating that he should stop cursing. He hated her friends, family, everyone around her, hell, he even hated her sometimes, and now, he had reason to hate her with all his might and those around her simply by association.

Unlike himself, she had been born in a wealthy family; they were all really posh and hadn’t liked him very much. She never had to climb the social ladder; she didn’t even paid her university off loans, like he did. She was everything he wasn’t and that included being a back-stabbing-cunt-liar-fucking-cheating-bitch. He could be those at work, but never in a relationship with someone he loved and cared about.

As an adult, he had cried four times only. When Clementine left him, when Lindsay and Alec had been born, and when he waxed his chest hair and armpits on a dare way back when he used to work on the newspaper in Glasgow. He had vowed he would never cry again after he was out of the hospital on 2010 but he had broken that promise the following two years. On the third, he had just wept a little for about 5 minutes and on the fourth, he hadn’t even thought about her much; he pretty much did what he was doing now. Remembering the one time in his life someone had hurt him deeply and dare he say it, brooding in a not-so-obvious way.

The clock said it was 7:10am and he decided to start driving to Number Ten. He had to tidy up a few things here and there and be ready for the first 8:30 meeting of the week.

He had initiated those meetings as a means to know what was happening in each department. He had found that it helped him to be aware of the situation and therefore, made his job easier and more efficient. Those who came to the meeting loved them because of the banter and because they rarely lasted more than 20 minutes. It was fast and effective, just how he liked his things to be done.

As he was parking his car, his phone started vibrating. Upon taking it out of his pocket, he saw that it was Jamie.

“Yes, dear?”

“Oh, fuck, you’re indeed okay, eh? Good, good. Listen, I might be there a little late. Fucking woke up later than usual. Took the pill late, you see.”

“Yeah, I’ll make a fucking excuse for you.” He switched off the engine and got out of the car. “Is that all?”

“Yes, yes, fuck off to work, mate.”

“Yeah, bye.” As he hung up, he closed the door to his car with his hip and put on the car alarm as it was his habit.

Walking towards Number Ten, he looked behind him to see Sam trying to catch up with him. She was usually earlier than him so he gave her a knowing smile and waited for her as she got closer.

“Had a nice weekend, eh?” he asked as he started walking once again to Number Ten.

“Yeah, went to a few gigs and to visit my parents.” She sighed and looked at him. “What about you, boss?”

“Same as always, went to Jamie’s for dinner and brought Alec and Lindsay with me.” He opened the door to Number Ten and allowed her to pass first, then he went after her and closed the door.

“Aw, how are they?”

“Pretty good and healthy. They’ve got too much fucking energy.”

As they arrived to her desk, she put her bag on top of it and took off her coat, draping it across the back of her chair.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, Sam. Let’s break some ass today.”

She shook her head and smiled at him. “You break them; I merely tell you where those asses are and what they’ve done.”

“Quite right.” With a final look at her, he walked towards his office. Once inside, with the door closed, he looked around and turned on the lights.

His office could be considered as a bit on the dark side and the smell of books, citrus and coffee always filled the air. Sam had tried to get rid of the smell by spraying Febreeze but it never worked. She had given up and never messed with the smells of his office again.

As he sat on the chair behind his desk, he turned on the computer that currently resided on his desk and surfed the nets for the news. As he checked his work-related emails, he noticed that Sam had sent him a message indicating that today Liam Bentley was going to a by-election in Lamington Spa. He couldn’t see how that could go wrong and therefore, he ignored it.

Reports were read, and any kind of news as well, and he soon found himself walking to his 8:30 meeting with the people from the department. He opened the door to find that Robyn and a couple of men were already inside.

“Morning!” he headed inside and took the chair in front of the window. Everything was positioned so that he was the center of attention. “Right. Only ten minutes until the rest of the group comes here tripping over their fucking feet.” He joked and those who were in the room laughed, however Robyn laughed out of politeness and he picked up on that.

Looking at her over the folders he was currently organizing on his lap, he raised an eyebrow at her. “You didn’t think it was funny, hmm?”

“To be honest, I don’t see how a bunch of people tripping over their feet to get to a meeting on time is funny.” She frowned at him.

“Well, this is the first day you’re early. You’ll see what I’m talking about soon enough. It’s like having fucking toddlers in suits walking around.”

As the minutes slowly ticked by, he took out his Iphone and re-read the messages he and Clara had been exchanging. Last night he didn’t text her, nor did he call her because everything that he had wanted to say to her had been said, but today; a small part of him wanted to see her. However, he also wanted to be alone and brood. _Better focus on work and my feelings later_ , he thought.

The clock struck 8:30 and surely enough, the door opened and a horde of people flooded in, tripping over their feet as he had said they would, then fighting over the seats.

“Now, children, this isn’t musical fucking chairs. I need you to fucking sit down in the seats available and if there aren’t any, which is fucking unlikely, sit on each others’ lap or stand the fuck up.”

They quieted down and did as they were told and he smiled at them. “Good. Now onwards with the news. Bob ‘The Builder’” he said pointing to Robert, “tell us what you’ve got.”

And so the meeting began.

* * *

 

He had made a few jokes to tidy up the meeting and dismissed everyone but he didn’t move to his office, instead he made himself more comfortable in the room and took out his Blackberry to check his emails once again. It was a habit of his; he thought that if he checked it often, new emails would spontaneously appear.

He responded to five of them, since it was just questions and whatnot, but there was one he had received that made him roll his eyes so hard he thought he would see his brain. He forwarded it to Sam.

\-----

 _From: Ed Atkins [mailto:_ [ _eatkins@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:eatkins@gov.org.uk) _]_

_To: Malcolm Tucker_

_Subject: Help!_

_Dear Malcolm,_

_We’re having a party fundraiser. Wondered if you’d mind contributing an item for auction? A signed photo? A tie you wore on election night? One of your old mobile phones? (You must have quite a collection!) One of the severed heads you keep in your fridge? Haha! Just teasing on the last one. Any help hugely appreciated._

_Many thanks in advance,_

_Ed Atkins_

\-----

 _From: Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ [ _mtucker@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:mtucker@gov.org.uk) _]_

_To: Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker_

_Subject: FW: No._

_My first reaction is to say ‘go fuck yourself pal’. My second reaction is to say the same. My third is to say the same again but with more vehemence/spittle._

_Sam?_

\-----

 _From: Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ [ _scassidy@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:scassidy@gov.org.uk) _]_

_To: Ed Atkins_

_Subject: FW: RE: Help!_

_Dear Ed,_

_I’d love to help. Great cause. I’m sending a football shirt from a charity match between a UN XI and a Charity Aid Workers XI which is signed by Ban Ki-Moon, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Eddie Izzard. (I didn’t play; I was just shouting abuse from touchline. Fucking great.)_

_Have a fucking great night, pal._

_All the best,_

_Malc x_

_*Sent on behalf of Malcolm Tucker_

\-----

He laughed aloud but he actually was a tad scared of Sam because that was scarily accurate. Just exactly what he would say if he did give a fuck about what Ed thought of him. He always did counted on Sam to fix his moods sometimes.

\-----

_From: Malcolm Tucker_

_To: Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker_

_Subject:_

_Fuck me. That’s scary. You actually sound like me._

\-----

_From: Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker_

_To: Malcolm Tucker_

_Subject:_

_I can forge your signature too. You better be nice to me._

_S x_

\-----

 _Unbelievable._ He shook his head and stood. _Time to go to my cave._

* * *

 

As he was on his way to his office, he noticed a man talking with Sam and she was giggling. She never giggled and that caused Malcolm to interrupt them. Mainly because it was someone he had seen before and he didn’t like him much, he could tell by the vibes he got from the man.

“Oi, fucktard, leave her alone, she’s got work to do and this is not the time for conquests! Off you go.” He said pointing in the general direction of the hallway and the man nodded rapidly, without making eye contact with him.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Are we still going together for lunch?” The man asked Sam, and now Malcolm remembered him from some of  his 8:30 meetings, however, he said nothing.

“Yeah, now leave!”

The man left, leaving Malcolm with Sam.

“Sammy, darling, that guy from Health doesn’t have a backbone. He’s like a fucking worm. Slinking around without being fucking noticed. Anyways, I’m off to work.” As he was walking towards the door to his office he stopped. “And Sam? You’d make a shitty villain, confessing your skills and all that. I thought I fucking taught you better than that. I’m ashamed!” he closed the door as loudly as he could, which wasn’t loud enough for his standards and started writing a ‘How To Leak Stories’ to have Sam send it later on to the usual fuckspads.

He hadn’t gone as far as two paragraphs when Jacob came barging inside telling him that the daughter of the previous MP was standing as an independent against Liam Bentley. The only logical thing he could do was send everyone to fucking Lamington. _Support the fucker and pray for the best_ , he thought.

He scratched the back of his head and frowned. If he remembered correctly, today there had to be a cabinet meeting and Tom and Nicola were supposed to be there.

He got out of his office and waited by the door until he could catch a glimpse of Tom or Nicola, whoever came first.

“Tom!” he greeted the older man with a smile and the older man smiled back, causing Malcolm to tut at him. “What have I told you about that fucking retarded smile? Looks like you have palsy. Listen, I didn’t call you over to insult you, yeah? You need to go to Lamington.”

“But I have a meeting at ten, Malcolm!”

“Postpone it; I know what I’m telling you. The fucking daughter of the previous MP is standing against our Bentley here and he need as much support as he can get, right? Without support Liam is as useless as a fucking hamburger without the meat. You don’t want a hamburger without the meat, yeah? ”

“Well, I-I’ll see what I can do.”, said Tom and started walking out of Number Ten, but Malcolm catched up to him.

“No, no. You’ll go to fucking Lamington. I’ll tell your PA to reschedule the meeting.” He accompanied Tom outside and opened the door to the car that was waiting for Tom outside and said to the driver. “I don’t trust this fucker so take him straight to Lamington where Bentley is going to be, yeah?” he let Tom inside and before he closed the door, he said. “Lock the doors, yeah? Crazy Tom here might jump out.” With a smile directed at Tom he closed the door and watched the car go away.

_One down, one to go._

He ran towards the door, only to find Nicola halfway to it. “Nicola, a word. My office.”

He could tell by her groan that she wasn’t happy by that. _Well, fuck her._

He let her inside and closed the door. Malcolm started pacing behind his desk and Nicola commented on his comfortable chair but he didn’t rise to the bait. She was still a bit maudlin because he had texted her to bin the chair she was using before.

“Right.” He sighed. “You need to go to Lamington and support Bentley, now. It would be your first public appearance so we can see how that fucking pans out, yeah?” he said as he took out his Blackberry and texted Ollie to come down to Number Ten to accompany Nicola.

“I-I’m not ready, Malcolm. I don’t even know what to say about the PFI contract.”

“Easy. You say fuck all nothing. You don’t give those bastards shit. You evade those lines of questioning like the fucking Matrix, saying that the activity is about Liam Bentley, not you and done. What you say?” he said as he sat on his chair and took out a pen from the inside of his suit jacket, looking expectantly at her.

“I have no choice, do I?” she glared at him.

“Nope, but you can start by leaving now and getting a fucking head start. You don’t want to encounter a traffic jam.”

She glared harder at him and he rolled his eyes.

Malcolm pointed at the door. “Fucking fuck off, Nicola. Ollie must be waiting outside for you to accompany you and if not, then he’s on his way.”

She groaned and left, leaving the door open and he had to stand to close it. “Next time close the fucking door!” He closed it and walked back to his chair.

As he sat and reclined on it, his hands had gone to his temples and he was massaging them to get rid of the tension. It didn’t help much but at least it made him feel as if he was doing something. Now there was nothing to be done besides tune in on the TV at 10:30 to see how things went, but meanwhile he had about an hour to kill.

Just as he was thinking on continuing what he had been doing before those news interrupted him, Jamie opened the door, wearing his coat and all. Malcolm looked at him up and down and raised an eyebrow at him.

“What’s up with you? Don’t tell me you got here just now?”

“Nah, I only arrived about 30 minutes late. Not exactly late, because I was still here at 8:50 or so but you know. I actually came here for you.”

Malcolm saved the document and turned his full attention to Jamie. “I’m listening and this better be fucking important because I was actually doing…” he looked at the computer screen and then at Jamie. “-something important.”

“Fucking liar that you are!” he looked around the office in search of Malcolm’s coat but couldn’t find it. “Where’s your fucking coat?”

“Left it at home, what the fuck do you want?”

“Be honest. Are you free now?”

Jamie was just sometimes as insistent as a fucking nattering wife, which was one of his less likeable qualities.

“Yes, so?”

“You’re acting like a fucking prat. Tone the fuck down and shut down the fucking computer.”

Malcolm turned to the computer once again and was going to open the previous saved file when Jamie walked up behind him and reached out to turn it off; and he did just that.

“Now, that that’s done… Let’s go grab some coffee.”

“Oh, that’s your fucking plan!?” He was mad now, incredibly mad because he had been holding himself together nicely and now Jamie was disrupting that. “I have a lot of shit to do here, Jamie and I doubt that drinking some fucking coffee because you want to go where Clara works, is going to do some good to me! Just leave me alone to work. I want nothing from you, nothing!” said Malcolm, referring to the talk Jamie wanted to have. He pushed Jamie and said man pushed him back.

“You listen to me. You’re acting like a fucking bitch, yeah? We’re going down there, have some coffee and come back here. You might see Clara, yes, but she’ll be working and I fucking think you need a change of scenery.” Jamie was breathing heavily as he finished but Malcolm just glared at him, breathing heavily as well.

Jamie was suggesting the change of scenery because he knew if he confronted Malcolm about what was bothering him in his office, Malcolm would lash out and they would certainly have a fistfight. Then after that, they would apologize to each other and Malcolm would certainly break down. At least that’s what Sarah had told him. She also told him that Malcolm needed an outlet; let someone know what exactly had happened and how he was feeling or felt, to move on.

Malcolm was a private person and he rarely confided in anyone about his troubles and if they did have a fistfight, followed by Malcolm’s breakdown,- which would involved crying, for sure-, Malcolm would avoid him like the plague.

Jamie summarized that it was better to confront him in an open place, where Malcolm would have a tight rein over his emotions and it wouldn’t end up on a fistfight.

They said nothing, just stared at each other until Malcolm relented.

“We go there, have a coffee and come here.” He walked out of his office and left Jamie trailing behind him with an expression of satisfaction on his face.

* * *

 

They had gone to the coffee shop on Jamie’s Range Rover and the entire 15 minutes to the coffee shop, Malcolm had been staring out of the window and when Jamie had turned on the radio, Malcolm had turned it off.

As Jamie parked his car, Malcolm released a sigh and reclined against the seat.

“Can we not go inside?”

“Not really. Sarah hates the smell of coffee on a car and she doesn’t want anyone fucking eating inside it either.” He opened the door and Malcolm followed suit. “You’d think I’d have a fucking say in the matter since it’s my fucking car.”

Malcolm snorted but walked to the coffee shop with his hands in his trousers’ pockets. He didn’t wait for Jamie because he wanted to see Clara first and he knew that his face would betray some of the things he already felt for the young woman and he didn’t want Jamie to be a witness to that.

However, this time, Clara wasn’t being the cashier as before. It was a blond girl with the biggest fucking mouth he had ever seen.  He cleared his throat and cocked his head at her. He really wanted to ask if Clara was free today but then she started talking about taking his order and he decided to not ask.

“Black coffee and two croissants, please.”

She made his coffee as he took out the exact amount of money to pay for what he had asked for. Rose gave him his coffee and processed his purchase.

“Is this to-go? Because the croissants will come out in about 3 minutes.”

“No, no. We’ll just be over there.” He pointed to the same table he had sat with Clara.

“Well, when they’re ready, we’ll get them to you.” She smiled at him and he left for the table as Jamie got his order.

He sat in a position where he would be able to see the door of the shop and waited. He had some hope that Clara would be just in a different shift or something because despite what he might tell himself, he really wanted to see her.

Jamie interrupted his thoughts simply by sitting in the vacant chair in front of him and dumping about 8 spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee.

“Ah… now that we have our coffee, I think we really need to fucking talk, so strap your asscheeks to the chair and fucking talk.”

He had an air of nonchalance about him, as if he wasn’t worried and wasn’t angry at Jamie but it was going to get harder to control as the time passed, he could tell.

“Talk about what? What happened six fucking years ago, is that it? That’s in the past, I’ve moved on.”

“No, you haven’t.” Jamie took a sip of his coffee and looked at Malcolm.

He looked incredulously around and then at Jamie. He leaned forward, “What is this? ‘The fucking Office’? Where are the fucking cameras waiting to catch this moment? Just what do you want, there’s nothing to say.”

Jamie snorted, “No, no. This is better than that. I just want to know the events that led you to drink yourself fucking stupid. You fucking blacked out, for fucks sake!” Jamie gulped and whispered, “I thought I had lost you.”

“Well, evil doesn’t die easily.” He joked and said joke caused Jamie to smack his fist on the table. The table wobbled a bit and a consequence of that was a bit of sloshed coffee and a glare from Malcolm.

“You think this is a joke, yeah? It fucking isn’t, Malcolm. You’re like a brother to me, you don’t know how fucking scared I was when I let myself into your flat and found you at the foot of your sofa, still wearing your suit and just lying there. Not even a fucking groan or a ‘fuck you, go away’.”

“I’m sorry.” He said wiping the mess with the napkins that seemed to be on every table.

“You better fucking be. Since I haven’t seen Clementine since then, I assume the bitch did something to you, so what the fuck did she do?”

“She cheated on me. End of the fucking story and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m fucking upset as it is and I don’t need to have you sprouting any more of Sarah’s nonsense because I know that this whole thing was her idea.”

“She did say you needed an outlet, the rest was up to me.”

He rolled his eyes at him and focused on just drinking his coffee. The coffee wasn’t that good, it was just average coffee but he apparently liked it. He had drank coffee from this place three times in his life if he counted this time, and the last time, he had wanted the coffee to be from this place because it reminded him of Clara.

He felt he was already too deep with Clara. They were both adults, he knew; but he was actually fucking scared of feeling something for someone who at some time would –quite literally- piss on his heart and stomp on it. He wasn’t certain he could survive that happening one more time. But such were feelings, they made you feel things you never thought you would –good and bad- and then they would fuck with you.

Feelings were a waste of time, he knew it, but he also couldn’t help himself from feeling them. When he was with Clara, he felt as if he could be better, as if he could do anything and she’d support him. Granted, in terms of timing, those feelings had come really fucking fast but was there a fucking ‘Feelings Police’ out there to tell him when to feel things and when to act on them? Thought not. Because feelings are illogical. Trying to make sense of feelings is sort of like trying to make sense of ‘Doctor Who’. It’s fun to try but damn fucking impossible and if you try to apply some logic, you may resolve some things, but not the thing entirely.

As he thought his croissants were taking long enough, a door in the back opened and he smelled them. Freshly baked and his mouth watered.

 Right then, he heard her; because it was clearly her voice. He could easily recognize it anywhere. Her voice triggered the memories they of what they had done yesterday night and his mood considerably brightened.

He turned to the source of the voice, but she was bent over the pastry area, putting them in. Then she stood straight, her hair in a pony-tail and caught sight of him. Her smile brightened and he thought to himself how someone could ever be happy to see him? Did he really bring that much joy to her?

He turned his head to look at Jamie but he was looking at his own phone, possibly ignoring him. He didn’t care at all. He twisted on his chair to look at her as she was coming his way.

Once she was close enough, he smiled at her. “Morning.”

“Morning, Malcolm and Jamie.” She smiled at both of them. “Are the croissants both for you, Malc?”

He nodded and she put them in front of him. As Malcolm was going to say something, Jamie stood with his phone on his ear.

“Going to take this outside. Won’t be long.”

Malcolm and Clara watched him go. He looked at her and smiled when she shyly smiled back.

“Why so shy? You weren’t this shy last night.”

He was starting to wonder if she was already regretting what happened the night before. His frown was in place and he didn’t even realize it until Clara put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

“Don’t be such a frowny-face.” ,said Clara as she dropped her hand from his shoulder. She balanced her weight on her right leg, arms crossed over her chest.

To him, she looked perfect, even though she would battle him on that.

“I would ask you to sit here with me, but you’re working and I can’t really eat with you later, on your break, because I have to oversee the by-election.”

“You’re going to be there?” she raised an eyebrow at him and he chuckled.

“Um, no. Just going to oversee things on TV and make some calls and whatnot if there’s something I have to fix. Which undoubtly there will fucking be.”

“Are you feeling quiet alright?”

He thought about lying but how could he, when she was looking at him with her eyes full of concern? He knew he couldn’t lie and he would not, but he wouldn’t have this conversation twice, plus, she deserved to know, just like Jamie and if he was considering something serious with her, he’d have to tell her sooner or later. But in his opinion, sooner was better.

“No. I’m really tired and… it’s something that happened a long time ago.” He couldn’t meet her gaze but she didn’t try to make him meet it. “But my mood will probably change. It always fucking does.” He smiled at her but there was really no feeling of happiness or elatation behind it. He just wanted her to know through actions that he’ll be alright.

Clara looked behind her to check if she was needed but Rose had it all under control.

“Do you need to talk? I’m available later on if you wish to do so.” She smiled at him and as she turned back, she heard him say a quiet ‘thank you’. It sounded so sincere and broken that she just wanted to rush up to him and teleport themselves to a better place.

She didn’t know what he needed but _if_ and _when_ he told her, she would do whatever she could to make things a bit bearable for him. It wasn’t just because she was starting to get emotionally invested in him, she’d do that for any of her friends and Malcolm was certainly her friend first and boyfriend later.

* * *

 

Jamie had come back inside a bit later after Clara left. Malcolm’s croissants were nearly gone, there was only one piece left and Jamie ate it.

“Time to go back to Number Ten, pal.”

“Give me a lift to DoSAC, will you? I’d rather see the whole thing there and see what sort of team Nicola has and how they’ve been copping with the reshuffle and change of secretary of state. No doubt they will still be the same fucktards they were with Hugh.” He said as he stood up and followed Jamie out, but not before both of them waived at Clara.

Clara mouthed ‘call me’ at him and he nodded, then left.

“It was a nice change. Hugh was pretty fucking dumb and then we’ve got that fucking old man and fucking John Lennon wannabe.”

“Glenn’s not that bad. Bit useless but not bad. However Ollie has got way too much ambition. He’s a fucker and he’s evil, he just needs to let his evil out sometimes.”

As Jamie left him at DoSac with about 15 minutes to spare, he thought he could have a talk with Clara through messages. He’d like it very much if no one snooped on his conversation.

As he arrived, he found everyone gathered around the TV but he knew that it wasn’t to be broadcasted until 10:30 so he went to sit on Glenn’s chair, feet propped on his desk and started texting her.

\-----

_You eating now?_

_-M._

\-----

_Yeah, a chicken salad. You left me quite concerned. Are you certain that you are okay?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_I’m certain that I am not. However I want to talk with you. Cheer me up._

_-M._

\-----

_I’m not your bloody clown!_

_-Clara_

\-----

_You certainly are not. Clowns have never been as fucking beautiful as you._

_-M._

\-----

_I just want you to distract me from my troubling thoughts. I also like talking to you. If you want to talk about Colin Firth, we certainly can. Fair warning, I will not share your fucking enthusiasm._

_-M._

\-----

_When will we talk about those troubling thoughts of yours? I want to help in any way I can. I just… want you to know that I’ll be here whenever you want to talk to me about them._

_-Clara_

\-----

_I’ll tell you later on today. Change the subject?_

_-M._

\-----

_Well, mmm… you said you met Colin Firth once, yes? How did he smell?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_What fucking kind of question is that? Do you think I go around sniffling celebrities?_

_-M._

\-----

_No, no! Not at all! I’m just curious. Does he smell like you?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Of death, anger and redbull? No, he didn’t smelt like that._

_-M._

\-----

_You don’t smell like that. You smell more like… well, yesterday you smelled like a bit of citrus, soap and aftershave._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Those are nice smells. Your hair smells of strawberry, you know that?_

_-M._

\-----

_Yeah, thanks to my shampoo. I need to smell you again, sometime, for a more accurate description._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Now you’re going to make me conscious of how I fucking smell. Wait up; I think I am getting the urge of buying travel size hand cream and cologne to smell good for you!_

_-M._

\-----

_Not a bad idea, really!_

_-Clara_

\-----

_I won’t actually action that. I’m not that fucking vain._

_-M._

\------

Just then, Glenn called him over to watch Nicola on the TV.

\-----

_Got to go. Work. Tune in so you’ll know what I have to deal with._

_-M._

\-----

* * *

 

He had overseen as the press bollocked everything up, but the press did have some help from his part. When he had printed the slogan, he just knew that the press would have a field day with that. And yet, he had told them to put Nicola in the middle but no, they had to put her right where it spelled ‘I am Bent’. Glenn was able to quickly spot it, but Ollie did not. He had just stayed silent as he saw everything go wrong and he couldn’t help but be incredibly upset at the team the poor woman had.

These people didn’t even fucking know how to avert a crisis. They knew fuck-squat-nothing. The only functional brain there was Glenn and hardly anyone listened to him, and if they did, it was only Terri, and she just relayed anything he said like a bloody parrot.

As they made their excuses, he had left telling them that they had tried but they hadn’t tried hard enough. His IPhone rang and without seeing who the caller was, he answered the call.

“Yes, yes, what the fuck do you want?”

“Uh… is this not a good time? That Murray woman looked… well, very stupid, you know. So, I really don’t think this is a good time for you.”

“Fuck!” he pressed the button to go the Lobby on the lift and reclined against the railing. “Sorry, it is really not a fucking good time. Did you see that fucking shit? Do you see what I fucking have to deal with? But get this, when she said ‘Ha-ha-fucking-ha! This appears to be the hot spot’! Yes, bitch the hot spot that could potentially fucking ruin you!” he stepped out of the lift and kept talking on the phone as he walked out of DoSAC. “And as I thought things couldn’t get worse today… well, today has certainly gone to shit.”

Clara just let him rage and yell at her over the phone. She knew he was mad and that the anger wasn’t directed at her, but it was slightly terrifying hearing him yell at her over the phone. Now she knew what people feared about him.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with so many incompetent people, but is there any way I can improve your day?”

“The only way you could improve my day is by appearing at my office in Number Ten and fucking kill me.” He walked quickly to Number Ten, which was just a ten minute walk away.

“I can do that, minus the killing you part. Would you like me to just pass by and say hi?”

He thought about it but shook his head in the negative. “No. I’m actually walking to Number Ten now. I’ve got to fix this somehow. I think I’ll be able to hold some newspapers but not all of them.”

He sounded disappointed, she could tell, and she sighed. “Alright, Malc. Don’t work yourself to the ground, yes? Also, good luck with that.”

“Thank you, have a good day.”

He hung up and crossed the street on his way to Number Ten. He saw two guys talking to each other and smoking, and he knew that they worked with Jamie. As he was nearing the building, Jamie got out, an angry expression on his face.

“Lunch break is fucking over, you fuckwits! Drop the fags on the ground or I will fucking push them so far down your fucking throats that smoke will come out of your assholes! Inside, now!” he yelled at the men as he held the door open for them and pushed them inside.

He caught sight of Malcolm’s own angry face and tried to brighten up a little. “Right. We’ve got to tame down this fucking thing down a little bit. Who knew fucking Nicola would be that fucking obedient to the press and so fucking stupid?”

“Not me, for fucking sure. This is just like ‘Iron Man 3’, have you seen that movie?” he asked as he passed Jamie inside Number Ten and kept walking to his office; Jamie close behind.

“I don’t remember. You are the one who watches movies almost compulsively.”

“Right, well, in this instance, I am fucking Tony Stark, yeah? I accidentally aided the bad guy in fucking Nicola up, and incidentally, fucking myself up in the process. Now they’re coming over to my place with fucking fancy helicopters with bombs the size of Fat Pat’s tits, and they’re currently trying to kill us all. But we’ll fight back, yeah?” he opened the door to his office and turned to Jamie. “So it’s time to put our fucking armour on and smash their fucking heads to bits, so fucking hard they’ll ancestors will fucking feel it!”

Jamie laughed and beamed at Malcolm. “Well, you certainly know I’m always fucking ready for some actual bloodshed. I’ll leave you to contact some fuckers. I’ll do the same.”

They nodded at each other and Malcolm closed the door.

The media was like a fucking pest and they rejoiced in making people look way more stupid than they were. Believe it or not, the media had a lot of influence on how people thought. A politician or someone of equal importance could have great initiatives and morals but if they were caught having a beer in the middle of the day they were fucked.

He worked for a bit, and an hour later went to DoSAC to talk to Nicola. He had thought long and hard about what he could do but he couldn’t fight in two fronts, could he? It was either get her daughter on comprehensive school or make her husband resign.

With a bit of struggle she had decided that her daughter would go to comprehensive and he had left, satisfied with that answer, but instead of taking the lift, he chose the stairs. He had walked around a bit and it was quite unusual of him to think he had been too harsh on someone, so he had stayed to wait for her.

He had tried to put himself in her position and he found that he wouldn’t want to put his kids in a comprehensive school either, which was quite hypocrite of him to say, because afterwards, when he had found her, he had agreed with her in what she said, that it didn’t matter what school you go to; if you’re good you can be good anywhere. But this was politics, being a hypocrite was a pre-requisite, basically.

* * *

 

After her talk with Malcolm, she was a bit shaken up. His temper had proven to be quite explosive now. She knew that he had a temper before but she had been witness to his silent rage, never to his sweary rage.

If she was honest with herself, hearing him swearing over the phone was really sexy… if the situation didn’t cause this much stress to him she’d say that she even enjoyed it. She would ask him someday to talk dirty to her, she just had to.

As she went to work, she saw the place had some clients busy eating or drinking the coffee and talking and she went to the break room to lock her things on her locker. She then went to the front to talk to Rose.

Rose had been working here since before Clara and they hit it almost instantly. If memory served her right, Rose had been dating David but she hadn’t asked if they were still together since he went away and she decided that this was a good time as any to ask her about it.

“Hey, Rose, how is it going with David?” she asked as she perched herself on the counter.

“He’s quite alright. He’s a teacher now! He’s so excited about that. He always blabbers on and on about what he’s going to be teaching the kids next and whatnot. I think he’s certainly in his element.”

“Oh, wow, I’m glad to hear that. What about you? Have you decided on going to uni yet?”

“Well…” Rose shrugged and looked down. “Mom really doesn’t have the money and right now I am just trying to help at home with what I can… David said he’ll help me but I’d rather not take his help…”

“Take some loans, they’ll help you. You might end up a little bit fucked up but at the end no one pays them.” Clara laughed and patted Rose’s shoulder. “I know I haven’t paid them and probably won’t.”

Rose chuckled and shook her head. “I’ll think about it but I promise nothing, yeah?”

At Clara’s nod, the conversation ended. That is until Rose remembered with whom Clara had been talking to earlier.

“So Clara… I didn’t know you were friends with the one and only… Mr. Malcolm Tucker. The other one I didn’t recognize but I certainly did recognize the skinny one.”

Clara blushed and stuttered a response. “W-well, uh… that’s a rather recent friendship.”

“Yeah? Well, how that came about? The newspapers describe him as some sort of villain that I’d rather not cross paths with.”

“Never trust the newspapers!” she said in a sing-song voice. “He’s really nice, believe me. Not a cuddly-bear exactly… but nice, yeah.”

 _He really was a cuddly-bear, I was witness to that_ , she thought and then smothered down her smile. She didn’t talk these sort of things with Rose, they were really good friends, but they were those sort of friends who never talked about the others feelings or such, not because they didn’t like each other enough or didn’t trust each other. It simply wasn’t that kind of friendship.

As the day passed and her shift ended, she took a cab home. There, she called her dad and talked with him as she fixed herself a meal. Her dad, predictably enough, talked about the incident with Nicola Murray on the TV. By what she could gather, he was curious to see how Nicola would recover herself from that photo-op and what the media would throw at her next. However, when he started taking it to far, she thought she had to intervene.

“Dad,” she said as she sat on sofa on her living room. She had put her phone in speaker mode so she could eat. “Leave the poor woman alone. You know how the media is; they are a bunch of skanks waiting for stuff like this to happen. They’re a bunch of bullies.”

“Nah, they’re just doing their job and their job is to inform us and occasionally, entertain us.”

“And gossip, speculate, etcetera.”

“Hmm, you’re not in a good mood today, are you?”

She sighed. “It’s not that… it’s just… she hasn’t been in her post for more than two days and now the media is roasting her like a turkey in thanksgiving and everyone wants a piece. I mean, it’s not fair. Give the woman a chance!”

He had chuckled and left it at that, but his next words caught her by surprise.

“You know what, dear? Your motorcycle has just been dropped off at our place by Jack. He’s still here with his friend who owns a truck.”

She sat straighter and grinned. “Jack? Jack Harkness? Linda’s son?”

“Yes, we don’t know any other Jack.”

“Oh my god! Tell him to drop it off at my place, oh god, yes, please tell him that.”

She heard her father sigh and she giggled. “You’re just like your mother… a lover of speed and danger. I’ll tell him that and please, be careful with it; it just came back from the shop.” He stressed again.

“I will.” She promised. “Love you, dad! Bye!”

She hung up and started eating in earnest.

When she had left on her travel with Daniel, she had left the motorcycle with Jack so he could take care of it and use it. However, he was a little bit of an adrenaline junkie, and racing through the streets of London in it, he had had an accident while running away from the police. He had been alright, just a few scratches on his arms and bruises everywhere on his body and surprisingly enough, the only scar he got out of that was one that ran from his right temple to under his right eye. It was barely noticeable and you had to know what you were looking for to really see it.

Jack had been taken into custody and only spent a few hours there until his dad paid off his release. She had never met his dad, but the talks she had had with Jack, led her to believe that he was a pretty laid back man who enjoyed golf and martinis by the beach. That tid bit of information she learned it from Linda who had said countless of times why she had left Jack’s dad.

Jack was like the brother she never had. Initially when she met him, she had had a crush on him, but it eventually faded away when she started feeling something more sister-like towards him. He was quite a bit of an odd ball. He had worked as a bouncer in a club, then as a stripper and now he was a singer, with his own band and everything. She was really proud of him and he had asked if she wanted to join his band but she had refused. She knew she could be a very good singer but she sometimes got a bit of scenic fright and she would be glad if she could do without that.

She cleaned the dishes and went to get a shower as she waited for him. Her dad lived fairly close to her but Jack had always had the habit of arriving late. For everything. She would even bet he would be late to his own funeral.

As she dressed and walked to her living room, she texted Malcolm to see how he was doing. She had been toying with the idea of visiting him when he got home from work, but she wanted to see how his mood was first.

\-----

_Hi. Still at work?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Hello, you. Yes, still at work. Enjoying freedom?_

_-M_.

\-----

_Yes, actually. When do you get out?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_I’m out by six. (Hopefully.) My legs hurt. I’ve walked so fucking much today._

_-M._

\-----

_I would give you a massage, if you’re interested._

_-Clara_

\-----

_You bloody well know I am but I think it’ll just pass when I get home and lay down. I’m a bit tired but at least I got some action today._

_-M._

\-----

_And not the good kind._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Not the good kind?_

_-M._

\-----

_Yes, unless you’ve had sex, you haven’t had the good kind of action._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Ah, I see. I intend to remedy that, sometime. For now, a wank will have to suffice._

_-M._

\-----

_Hmm. What are you waiting for?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_I’m waiting to get to know more of you. I’ll take my damn sweet time doing that. I am very thorough in everything I do._

_-M._

\-----

_Oh, yes?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Yes, and that extends to fucking as well._

_-M._

\-----

She blushed as she read the message and fanned herself.

\-----

_I’m getting a tad hot here, Malcolm. Not a good idea, my step-brother is coming over._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Oh fuck. That sounds like a bad porno description._

_-M._

\-----

_It does! Hey, I’ll talk to you later, yes? He’s here._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Sure, thing. Do NOT have fun._

_-M._

\-----

She chuckled and wrote a response as she went to open the door.

\-----

_Not that kind of fun anyways, mister._

_-Clara_

\-----

As Clara opened the door, Jack picked her up and hugged her. It was more of a really hard squeeze but she didn’t mind much anymore. He wasn’t the best hugger because he was sometimes too rough. She liked to hug him when they’ve seen each other for a few days or so, because his hugs weren’t as rough.

“Jack! Put me down!”

He chuckled and put her down. Grabbing her head between his hands, he kissed the top of her head. “If it wasn’t because I’ve got your bike we wouldn’t have seen each other today!”

She slapped his chest and pushed him towards her sofa in her living room.

“Don’t be such an idiot. I was about to call you when dad delivered those news. To tell you the truth, I’m excited to see my baby.”

He rolled his eyes at her and stretched on her sofa. “Please, I need some water, sexy-pants. I’m parched.”

As she got him a glass of water, she asked. “Where is your trucker friend? Dad said you were with him.”

“Oh. Him, well, he dropped me off with your bike. Your baby is currently besides the stairs. Your landlady opened the door for me. I may have flirted with her.” He smiled at Clara in thanks as she gave him the glass of water. “As for my trucker friend... He’s not only my friend. He’s my friends with benefits. That guy’s a great bottom.” He sighed dreamily and Clara slapped the back of his head.

“Watch it! When are you going to find someone stable?”

“I’m not made for commitment. I haven’t found the right person that makes me think in marriage. For now, I’ll just have fun.” He winked at her.

“Right.” She grabbed his arm and inspected it. “You seem a lot more buff than when I last saw you. You’re back in the gym?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Want to hear a few of my adventures?” he moved so he was facing her and put his right arm along the edge of the sofa.

“Sure, go ahead.” She tucked her legs under herself and looked expectantly at him.

“Okay, there was this woman, yeah? She’s married and as I flirted with her, she said that she’d like to have an affair with me so I said yes, naturally. So we go to her place, right, the kids are at school and… wait, this was last year, November, I think… anyways, the kids were at school and she said her husband was working. So I go down on her first, play with her tits and whatnot and then as I was rising up to kiss her she slaps me… I’m like, ‘Oh, you like it rough?’ and she said that she does but she likes to do the slapping so I say, ‘alright’. Then she goes on top of me, gives me a blowjob and there I was, seeing stars but then the front door opened and she said, ‘Oh, don’t mind that, it’s probably the dog’. Clara, what fucking dog open doors? So while she keeps sucking my dick her husband opens the door… and I was close to cumming and seeing her husband there, I don’t know, it frightened me, so as I was about to take her mouth off of my dick to stop the fucking sucking… well, I did got her mouth off of my dick but I came all over her face and then I tried to get off the bed and possibly jump out of the window… but, oh god.” Jack scrubbed his face with his hands in embarrassment about what he was going to say next.

Clara couldn’t stop laughing. What she so dearly loved about Jack was that he always told her about his sexual adventures or anything remotely funny. He practically flirted with anything that had a beating pulse and if he could fuck it, then better. She hoped that he wasn’t into beastilism. Quickly erasing that thought, she said. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging! What happened next?”

He sighed and looked at her, his eyes were full of mischief and he was biting his lip. “Well… turns out I’ve fucked her husband. I was at a bar in August, you know the bar a couple of blocks down your dad’s house?” At her nod, he continued. “Well, since he was so handsome, well, I decided to flirt a bit. At first, he didn’t flirt and ignored me, so I left him alone. I go to the bathroom to wash my hands and shirt because there’s been a bit of a food fight with my mates, I got ketchup everywhere. So I go to the bathroom, to clean up and the guy’s there, peeing. So I tried to discretely see his dick when I entered. You see, as I was washing my hands on the sink, this guy just sneaks behind me and grabs my dick and he asked if we could take this somewhere else… long story short, I said yes. We went to a motel and I was ready to be the sub because he was really fucking tall and had this deep voice… well, turns out that no, he was going sub. I know you don’t want the details, so I’m not going to give them, but we had sex three times. One in the bed, the other in the shower and a quickie right before we left the motel.”

She was certain she would end up with abs from laughing so damn hard. Why did these things happen to him? “Oh god, how did he react when he saw you?”

“That’s the thing! He didn’t. He just stood… frozen, while I was putting my trousers and his wife was crying with my cum on her face, so I said sorry to both of them like ten times, finished dressing and jumped out of the window. I landed fine and left. I haven’t heard from them.”

She dried her tears from laughter and wheezed, “Neither will you hear of them. Oh god, you broke a marriage!”

“Me? Nah! It was them! I was just the object of their desires. They have good taste in men, let me tell you.” He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. “What about you? Any fun dates? Not mourning Daniel, I hope. I know he isn’t dead, but when people aren’t present, they might as well be.”

She sighed and held tighter onto his hand. “Nope, not mourning Daniel, at all. I’ve got a new guy.”

“Oh yeah? Serious? Or just for some hanky-panky?”

“It seems serious to me.”

“Okay, how long have you had him hidden? You sly woman!”

She laughed. “No! I’ve just known him for four days and I don’t know, it’s like something clicked into place.”

“You’ve known him for four days and you’re in love? Blimey, the fucker must be George Clooney or something.”

“I didn’t say I was in love… yet. It’s just…” she moved her hands as if to explain what exactly was what she felt for Malcolm. “I don’t know how to explain it. But it’s something else.”

“Hmm… how does he look?” he asked with a smirk in place.

“Well, he’s about the same height as you. He’s got blue eyes, but they change colour occasionally. Sometimes they are bluer… I think it’s the lighting. Anyways, he’s lean and a bit on the skinny side, really pale and his hair is brownish. It’s starting to look more grey than brown lately.”

“Oh, you, my darling, Clara Oswald!” he leaned over her to pepper her face with kisses while she begged him to stop. “You are after old sexy sods, aye? Brilliant!” he stopped kissing her face and hugged her tight.

“Here’s the bit you’re going to like… he’s Scottish.”

“Oh my! You went in for the kill. Bitch.” He said affectionately and rubbed her shoulder. “Do you mind if I stay here for a while?”

“Not at all. You know where everything is here if you need something. I’m going to fold some clothes I neglected to fold.” She left him alone in the kitchen as he turned on the TV and she could hear his booming laugh all the way to her bedroom.

Jack was the kind of person that could liven up a party with his outgoing personality and his jokes. To all outwards appearances, he was the happiest person in the world, but she knew that that was a lie.

When she had left England with Daniel, he had had a boyfriend; they had been really close and were talking about marriage. Linda didn’t approve but Jack’s dad and everyone who really loved him, supported him. It had been going well until his boyfriend died. It was a hit-and-run and there were no witnesses.

Jack had fallen into a depression and he had become a bit suicidal, up to the point where he had to be put into a clinic. Clara had been to visit but he had told her that she should enjoy her life with Daniel while she could, and she immediately understood what he meant and did just that. He had been in the clinic for about six months until he was deemed fit to get out.

It had hit him like a blow because he had known, Christopher almost all his life and he was the only constant he had had in his life. Even when his father splitted up with Linda, Christopher was always there for him.

Now he was just trying to get on with his life but he did it by having sex with whomever he liked. Clara didn’t know if that was healthy, but as long as he wasn’t hurting anybody, she didn’t mind. She just worried about his state of mind.

She checked her phone’s clock to see that it was 5:45 and thought about going exactly at six to Malcolm’s place. _Will I look clingy and desperate if I go there?_ A part of her delighted in the way his eyes lighted up in anger, it made him look so sexy and she wanted to see that look again. But she was certain she could smooth it down. He was such a grumpy guy sometimes and that was one of the things that she liked about him. Because he wasn’t afraid to show how he was really feeling, even if he was with her.

She decided she’d leave for his place at seven as she folded her clothes. She was nervous, but that was normal. She always seemed to be for a bit when she was around him and then that nervousness went away. Maybe she felt it because she wasn’t really quite sure she was dating him. It felt surreal to her. With his prestigious position in the government you’d think he’d never set his sights on her, but he did and she was very happy about it.

To stop her musings from going deeper into the man that was Malcolm Tucker, she went to the living room and sat besides Jack, laying her head on his shoulder as they watched TV. She programmed an alarm to let her know when it was 6:50 so she could change and leave.

* * *

 

 He could have left early, but he didn’t. Leaving earlier would mean that he would have to be at his flat earlier than usual and that was something he didn’t wanted. He mentally slapped himself; he really wanted to spend more time with Clara but something was holding him back.

Trouble was that he knew what it was. He had had more than enough time to think non-stop about that while confined in his office. Granted, there were a few interruptions here and there, but he could multitask.

What was holding him back was the chance of getting hurt.

When the notion of it crossed his mind, he had scoffed and tried to think something else. But the answer was always the same. He wasn’t afraid to love, he loved many people in his life that were his friends and family; but when you loved someone outside your family and friend circle, someone with whom you might spend the rest of your live…you very well might end up getting hurt and that was what scared him.

He knew there were bound to be ups and downs, no relationship was perfect, but he knew those changes would make him moodier than he usually was and cause him a pain in the ass. He got fucked in the government a lot, but being fucked in his personal life was a different matter entirely, and he didn’t mean it in a sexual way.

As the clock struck six he said his good-byes to Sam and left Number Ten.

As he got on his car, he connected the AUX cord to his Ipod and played ‘Crazy Train’ by Ozzy Osborne. He normally didn’t listen to Ozzy, he was a man gone fucking mental. But right now, he didn’t even care.

He smiled when he envisioned how his coworkers might react to his taste in music. Jamie preferred Al Johnson and old singers, there was Michael who looked pretty much like Glenn, if not more fashionable, and he liked classic music. He knew because he fucking heard it every fucking morning and Jamie was the one who took it upon himself to tell him to turn ‘that racket off’. He was anxiously waiting for when Jamie snapped and smashed the bloody thing on Michael’s head. Then he would rush in and use the vynils as frisbees and decapitate a few people.

Passing the security gate to his apartment complex, he turned off the music and switched off the engine. Again, even though he drove as slow as he could, he was still damn early at his place.

 _Maybe I could use a long bath or shower. Hot water, preferably_. He got up the stairs sideways, but quickly, -his knees wouldn’t cooperate if he didn’t go upstairs like that-, and got inside his apartment.

Throwing his car keys in the kitchen island, he walked to his bedroom to take out off his clothes. He put the suit jacket back in the closet, along with the trousers and his shoes besides the closet; leaving him wearing the shirt he wore under his dress shirt, boxers and socks.

He put the tub to fill with hot water as he reheated the left over pizzas from yesterday. As he waited, he passed a hand along his hair. It was longer and puffier somehow and he’d like a haircut. If he remembered correctly, his neighbor was training to be a stylist, and he rang him.

“Marco?”

“Polo?” His neighbor answered.

“Ha ha, okay, enough. Just called to see if you were home and see if you could cut my hair.”

“Of course, I’m home, come over.”

“No, I mean, I will go later, yeah? Got to take a bath.”

“Well, you knock on my door whenever you’re ready and we’ll see what we do with your hair.”

“Thank you, Marco.”

“It’s Mark, Malcolm.”

“Thank you, _Marco_. Bye!”

Since he had met him, he had refused to call him Mark simply because it was too simple. He thought that the name that suited him best was Marco, and therefore, he would call him that until he died.

He took a can of Fanta from the fridge, the plate from the microwave and walked to his bathroom. He closed the lid of the toilet and put both items there, then proceeded to take his clothes off. One of the things he liked about his home was that his bathtub filled up quite quickly sometimes.

He put a hand on the water and hissed because it was too hot. He turned the tap to cold water and jumped in the bathtub. He intended to relax as he ate and so he did. But something was missing. It was the music, obviously, but he was too damn comfortable to make the effort.

The minutes passed and he got out when he noticed his skin was more wrinkled than usual. He dried himself with a towel he always had nearby and walked to his bedroom to put some clothes on. He opted for jeans and a black long sleeved polo shirt and his Adidas sandals. He only used them when he was at his place and no one, except Marco, had seen them.

He went to Marco’s door, knocked, and was greeted with the sight of said man shirtless and wearing only shorts. Marco was the kind of man who wasn’t ashamed of being half naked or naked in front of you, but he would blush if you complimented his drawing and painting skills. He was shorter than Malcolm, only 5’8, and he had brown eyes and blond hair with the thickest eyebrows Malcolm had ever seen. It was one of the reasons Malcolm had his name in his contacts as ‘Eyebrow kid’. He wasn’t skinny, but he didn’t have much muscle either.

“Are you trying to seduce me again, Marco?” he said, as he let himself inside.

“Again? I’ve never tried to seduce you.”, Marco said confused as he pointed to a chair and Malcolm sat in it.

Marco also rarely got jokes, something which used to make Malcolm angry at his inability to understand them but now, he didn’t even bothered.

“It was a joke, Marco. Listen, I want you to crop it short-ish, but not short-short, yeah?”

“Uh, yes… Short but not too short, got it.”

As Marco cut his hair, Malcolm tried to shake the feeling that cutting his hair was a bad decision. He rather liked the high top he had, and he assumed Clara liked it as well… now with his short hair, she couldn’t thread her fingers through it as she used to. _Too bad,_ he thought.

“Okay, its short,” began Marco, “and now it looks greyer. There’s obviously some brown in it but it looks greyer. Want me to dye it? On the house, come on. I’ve used you enough as my guinea pig and I think I’m getting better at this.” He insisted as he started fixing some bits here and there.

“Nah, leave it as it is, how much do I owe you?”

“Well, for you, not much. You owe me like five haircuts, yeah?” At Malcolm’s nod, he continued. “Well, order me some pizza, I’m tired of eating ramen.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah.”

“My god, you’re cheaper than a desperate tramp.” He took out the money and gave it to Marco. “You order yourself the pizza and the extra, well, do with it whatever the fuck you want.” He walked himself to the door and Marco chuckled.

“Thanks, dad.”

“Don’t you ever call me dad again, you fucker.” He threatened and closed the door on his way out.

Marco was training to become a stylist. He sometimes struggled to pay the rent and Malcolm helped him sometimes by having Marco clean his flat, his car, do his grocery shopping and some errands. He had been struggling as of late because he didn’t have a roommate and that situation was fucking him up slowly.

It didn’t help much that Marco was a painter and people rarely bought his paintings. Malcolm offered him to call in a few favours to have people who knew about art set him up a gallery for a week or so, but Marco was too proud to accept.

Malcolm always watched over him in a detached way, he only helped him financially but he may as well be the boy’s dad. Over the time, Marco had expressed that he would have loved it if his father was anything like Malcolm. He had laughed it off, of course, but that affected him quite a bit.

Malcolm was the one who had gotten him out of the streets at the age of 19 because he recognized Marco had talent. He had paid Marco’s rent for six months and provided anything Marco needed; it hardly caused a dent in his salary and he didn’t stopped helping him because in a way, he saw Marco as what he could’ve been. A man with dreams and ambitions, and he would support him however he could.

At his flat, he noticed that it was already 7:10 and connected his IPod to his radio. As he pressed the shuffle option, the song that started playing was ‘Loner’ by Black Sabbath. It was a song that quite suited his mood today and always.

He went in for a shower, and he hadn’t been in it for 4 minutes when his phone rang. He answered it.

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Tucker, there is a Clara Oswald asking to get through.”

“Oswald!? Clara Oswald?” He was wet and the only part of himself that was out of the shower curtain was his head and his hand. “Uh fucking hell… let her through, yes, tell her the door’s open.”

“Yes, sir.” The security guard hung up, leaving Malcolm staring at his phone confusion.

His brain was trying to process the information but then the water running made him snap out of it. He turned the tap off and just stood in confusion, scratching the back of his neck and then he remembered.

_I told the guard to let her through. The door’s open, she’ll come in, I’m naked. The plate is here in the bathroom, the music’s playing… and I’m wet and naked, fucking hell!_

He practically sprinted out of the shower, nearly falling on his head in the process and tried to dry himself as fast as he could, then wrapped his towel around his waist and picked up the plate and fanta can from besides the toilet where he had left them. He ran to the kitchen, trying not to slip and fall on his naked ass, and just as he was putting the plate in the sink along with the can the door opened.

“Ah, Jesus H. fucking Corbett!” He screamed at Clara.

The door to his flat was positioned so you could automatically enter through his kitchen, basically. It had a small reception room but the kitchen was right besides it. He was in shock that Clara could be that fucking fast, so he slipped past her with a muttered ‘hello’, but instead of running, he walked to his room, slowly. His feet were still dripping wet and he didn’t fancy falling in front of her.

As faith would have it, the next song on the list was ‘Cherry Pie’ by Warrant. He opened the door to his room and closed it promptly once inside. His face was burning with embarrassment. He tried to shake himself from that and dressed in sweatpants and a jacket with a hood that Marco had gotten for him. It said ‘Slytherin’, Marco had gotten one for himself as well but his said ‘Gryffindor’.

It had been a Christmas present from 2013; it was the first thing he bought him after he had gotten a decent job at a fast food. He had bought it because he had heard the music once when Malcolm was watching the movie and that was a sound that ‘was recognizable everywhere. Even deaf people know what that sound was’, or so Marco had said.

He tried to dry his hair a little more then opened the door and padded softly towards the living room. On the kitchen island, he saw what appeared to be a motorcycle helmet and he frowned as he kept walking. _Had she come here with someone else in that monstrosity? Nah, she couldn’t._

“I am really fucking happy to see you. But just what the fuck you’re doing here, Clara Oswald?” he asked as he reclined against the side of the sofa, arms crossed over his chest.

He would’ve looked threatening if he was wearing something else, but he just looked like cuddle material.

“Oh, yes? You sure have a funny way of expressing it.” She commented as she skipped through the songs on his IPod. She had paused the other one that had been playing, not because she didn’t like it but because it reminded her of the movie ‘Jackass’.

“Clara…” he hissed and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw his magnificent eyebrows knitted together and his jaw set and by god, wasn’t he the sexiest thing?

She walked up to him and tried to uncross his arms but he held them tighter to his chest. “Malcolm… don’t be so stubborn.” She said as she tried to uncross his arms.

“I am not.” He said and kept making force.

“You skinny man, damn you!” she tried once again but her attempt was futile. “Alright. Let’s see if you can keep being your stupid self after this.”

She stood on his sofa and kneeled on its armrest. Then she took his head between her hands and started kissing his cheeks, forehead, nose and eyelids.

“You have beautiful eyelashes, you know that? They are so long…” she kissed his cheek and then the other one. “I am attracted to your eyebrows, eyelashes and you. What a sexy thing you are.”

He slowly uncrossed his arms and turned fully towards her. He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at her. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I digress.” She grinned at him and hugged him; and he hesitantly hugged her back, running his hand up and down her back.

After a few seconds, he slowly pried her away from him. “Is that helmet yours?” he nodded towards the kitchen to emphasize his point.

“Yeah. I came here on my bike.”

He gulped. “By bike… you mean you came here, at 7...” he looked down at his watch. “At 7:10 or so on your fucking bicycle, yeah?”

“Uh, no?” she bit her lip. She suddenly felt as if she was being scolded. “Bike as in, motorbike.”

He looked unbelievably at her then shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. The smile wasn’t out of happiness; it was to convey how un-funny the situation was.

“You mean to tell me you came on your fucking bike all the way from your place to here and then you’re going back in it? At night?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” She smiled at him as she sat on his sofa and took off her leather jacket. “I’ve done it countless times. Don’t worry.”

“Oh?” he touched a hand to his chest. “You,” he pointed at her with his hands to emphasize his point, “tell me not to fucking worry? Oh, how fucking stupid I am. I can’t worry about you, oh no, what if your motorbike of death skiddles off the road... by a… a pebble! Or because it’s raining! You fucking going to risk your fucking life out there and die because of rain or a fucking pebble!?”

“Malcolm, I’m not a bloody child anymore. I know how to drive these things!” she huffed.

He leaned over her with his hands on either side of her head. His eyes were angry and he was even angrier. He felt awfully protective of her. Not to mention that he had a vendetta against bikes. “How long has it been since you last drove that shit at night?”

“F-five years?” she gulped.

He closed his eyes to try to calm himself down and Clara took hold of his face. “It’s alright. I’ll drive safely home.” She said as she caressed his cheeks.

“No.” he released a sigh and opened his eyes. “You’ll… you’ll stay here tonight and go to your place in the morning. Don’t even argue about that, please.”

“Well, okay.” She released a chuckle. _This was really better than what I hoped for_ , she thought.

He leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss. “Good girl.” As he straightened up, he grimaced and put a hand to his lower back, causing Clara to chuckle.

“Don’t know what it’s so fucking funny to you. The one who should be laughing is me. You’ve got damaged goods.”

“Bleh. I don’t care, really. By the way, that reminds me.” She stood and pushed him down on the sofa. “I owe you a massage. Do you have hand cream or something?”

“Eh… no. I don’t want that. I’m just tired.” A yawn escaped him and she looked fondly at him.

“Where’s the remote control?”

“Besides the TV.”

She took it and turned it on. When she sat on the sofa besides him, she untied her boots and took off her socks as well.

Malcolm looked at her feet and saw that her nails where painted a dark red and he chuckled. “Why you women have to paint your fucking nails?”

“Because it looks pretty.” She put some space between them and Malcolm looked at her oddly, and she explained. “Lay your head on my lap. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and refused to do so. “What for?”

“Just do it.” She patted her lap.

“Ugh.” He put his head on her lap and his feet on the other end of the sofa. Almost instantly, Clara started threading her fingers through his newly-cut hair. She said nothing and just kept running her fingers through it.

“You got a haircut.”

“5 point to Gryffind-obvious.”

She jabbed her finger on his ribs and he chuckled.

“You know you’re in too deep when the source of your affections gets a haircut and you still find him attractive.” She said.

“Mmm? Good to know. Next I’m going bald.”

“Now, there’s no need to take _bald_ decisions.”

“Was that a fucking pun? I hope it was.”

“Yeah, not a good one.” He turned his head so he could bite her thigh and she yelped.

“Malcolm!”

“That’s what I’m going to do to you… and more.” He teased.

Clara squirmed, trying not to imagine him near her pussy and biting on her thighs. She started squirming, trying to create some friction to relieve the itch that had been growing there since he put his head on her lap.

Malcolm noticed this and sat. Since his hair was still drying, it looked as if he had just woken up and Clara thought he looked adorable.

She kept crossing and uncrossing her legs and Malcolm smirked, ignoring her entirely and paying attention to the TV.  They watched fifteen minutes of the same crap and he decided enough was enough.

“I’m going to sleep. The house is yours, feel at home, blah blah blah. Or you can come to bed with me?” he added jokingly.

“Yeah, sure.” She switched off the TV and stood up.

“I was fucking joking, yeah? But come on in, you’re very welcome in there.”

“Now I am welcome there? Will there be hot-stuff?”

Malcolm groaned internally and turned to her with a strained smile in place. “Hot-stuff is out of the menu.”

She groaned and walked into his bedroom and he followed. “You can wear one of my old shirts to sleep; they are in the bottom drawer to your right.”

She went to look and fished out a white shirt that had David Bowie’s face in it.

“Oh, I’ll take this one!”

He laughed and turned around to look for a shirt. “You can change in the…” he turned around and found Clara with her back to him, and she was taking off her jeans. He knew he should turn his head again to give her more privacy but he physically couldn’t.

She took off her jeans slowly and kicked them to get them out of her feet. She was wearing underneath some lacy black and pink hot-pants. She could feel his gaze on her and she slowly took of her shirt and unclasped her bra, all the while smirking to herself.

He was quite aware that he now had a half naked woman in his bedroom and that she was tantalizing him with her body. He couldn’t stop looking at her, she was too damn perfect and the effect she was having on his body was getting hard really fast. He tried to smoother it down by discreetly passing his hand on his bulge but if anything, it made the problem worse.

Finally, Clara put on the shirt and turned to him. She had never seen him quite so pale. His breathing was slightly faster than normal, and his eyes were full of lust. She finally looked at his lap but he was trying to hide the evidence of his arousal with his hands.

“Love the shirt.” She grinned at him and he nodded back as he stood up and walked towards the door.

“Right… uh… you take the left side. And uh… do you want water, something?”

“You.” She said as she sat on the left side of the bed.

“Clara… not today. There’s nothing more I would like than to fuck you right now but… I want to wait. It has to be perfect. For you.”

“Malcolm, you’re not taking my virginity and besides… perfect is overrated.” She patted the empty side besides her. “Come now.”

He sighed and turned off the lights, then closed the door. As he walked towards the bed, he took off his jacket and threw it on the floor.

“I’m looking for a more comfortable shirt, wait a bit.” He said as he touched the fabric of the shirts he had in the drawer.

“Forget the bloody shirt, get in bed.”

She raised the cover to get under them and he did the same. He just stayed on his side, doing nothing, until she touched his chest with her hand, cuddled close to him and played with his chest hair, her head on his shoulder.

“When we saw each other at the shop I told you that if you needed to talk, you could talk to me.”

“I remember.” He said as he stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t seeing anything. Unsurprisingly enough, it was all black.

“So talk to me.” She kissed his neck and waited.

“Okay…” he released a sigh. “Not going to tell you the whole fucking story, looking back at it, I realize it is too dull. But I will tell you the most important bits. You’ll fill the rest by yourself.” His other hand lifted her shirt a bit and played with the skin on her hip, occasionally making contact with a bit of her underwear. “Well, it’s about a woman. I loved her very much. We had been dating for three years and on this day, six years ago, I proposed to her.” He chuckled. “She said no and I was wreck. Drank almost all the scotch I had, skipped work… Jamie found me and I spent about three days in hospital. I was fucking intoxicated. She was cheating on me that whole time. Haven’t seen her since.”

“Oh… well, I’m sorry that you felt like that back then but I’m happy you’re not married to her because I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

“You would have probably met me but not in this way.” He said and turned his head to kiss her forehead.

“What was her name?”

“Clementine.”

“Ha! The name should have tipped you off. Sounds like the name you give a demon in a horror movie.”

He chuckled. “You’re right and Clara is the name you give to the girl who knows the answers to everything.”

“Hmm…and Malcolm is probably the name you give to the priest who exorcises the demon away… and in this movie, stays with the other girl.”

“That would be a weird movie. Priests don’t fuck, I guess.”

“You’d make a very sexy priest.” She toyed with the waistband of his sweatpants and kissed his neck.

He turned for the night stand and turned on the lamp. “I hate to talk and not see a face. You were saying?” he settled down and she resumed her position.

“I said you’d make a very sexy priest. I have this fantasy… is pretty… weird.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Well,” she started running her hand over his nipples, his chest hair, and the smattering of hair that went from his belly button down to his sweatpants, then back up again. “in this fantasy… I read about Cardinal Richelieu, right? The man was a bastard, sure, but if he had your face… oh god.” She bit her lip and she turned sideways towards him. She planted her elbow on the bed and held her head with her hand, while the other played with his chest and stomach. “Well, in this fantasy, the Cardinal isn’t as much of a bastard as in the books. Thing is I confess to him that I want him to fuck me and he says no, but when I ask again some other time, he says yes… so we go to his bed, discard each other of our clothing… but before we get straight to business, I tell him I want to suck his cock first.”

Malcolm gulped. The narrative and her touches were doing nothing to alleviate his previous problem. So he sat still and tried to think coherently as he listened to her.

“He agrees, and I push him into bed… he’s much in the position you’re in now. So I slowly crawl on top of him until I’m straddling him.” Clara straddled him, and as his hands went to her hips, Clara moved them away from her. “Don’t touch. Just listen.” He gulped and nodded. “Right. Then I make out with him.”

She bent down to kiss him and Malcolm took control of the kiss, holding her head between his hands and coaxing her lips open with his own, and when she did, he plunged his tongue inside her mouth and caressed her tongue with his own. The contact sent a jolt straight to his groin and he moaned. Clara abruptly stopped the kiss.

“That’s exactly what happened next. Anyways, after that, I kiss his chest and everything underneath.” She did just that and he moaned again. His heartbeat was going too fast and she reveled in making this hardened man moan and squirm under her just like he was doing right now.

She stopped when she reached his waistband and put her hands on top of his thighs. “Then I do this.”  She grabbed his hardened cock through his sweatpants and squeezed a bit.

“Fuck!”

“Be lauder, the PM didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck you very much, Clara.”

She chuckled and traced his length again with two fingers and he buckled his hips towards her.

“What happened next?” he asked breathlessly.

“Oh.” Clara stopped and kneeled on the bed. “He said we had to wait because we didn’t know each other enough.” She leaned over him to turn off the lamp and laid besides him. “Good night, Malcolm.” She turned to face the other side and Malcolm spooned her, pressing his hard cock into her ass. Funny thing that the only thing dividing them was his sweatpants and her hot-pants because what she gathered as she gripped him through his sweatpants was that he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“I fucking hate you so much right now.” He growled on her ear and bit her earlobe as he griped her hip and ground into her.

“Oh, there’s a fine line between love and hate. You might be jumping between them right now.”

“Mhm.” He said non-comitally and put some distance between his groin and her delectable ass.

Clara got a thrill out of that contact but her plan wasn’t to take it as far as she did. She wanted him to feel as sexually frustrated as she felt and right now, she thought she had achieved just that.

Malcolm fell asleep quickly enough, the toll of the day and night had caught up with him and Clara followed suit soon afterwards.

She was really fucking glad he had refused to let her go back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be some NSFW things....

He opened his eyes slowly, it was like opening rusty windows; his eyes would not oblige but he forced himself to open them anyways.

It was dark still which wasn’t unusual, but something told him he had just woken up earlier than he intended. He had slept well last night, had woken up many times but he just couldn’t bring himself to move from Clara’s embrace. He knew he should’ve taken the pill that helped him sleep, but he didn’t care. He was actually rather glad he did it because through the night, as Clara slept, he could just let his mind wonder and for the first time in a few years, he thought about his future.

If things went how they were going as of now, he was certain that he would be with Clara as long as he could. However, his inner voice told him to be realistic. What a funny thing the brain is, really. You’re happy, hopeful, and content and it just tells you the million things that could go wrong.

Among his theories, the most plausible one he had thought about, was that Clara would tire of him when she noticed that he wasn’t much different than the other old men around. She would leave him and get herself a younger man. Maybe ten years older than her since he couldn’t really see her with someone younger. But the most likely was that he wouldn’t have time for her and that she would get tired of waiting for him. Would tire of always coming second to his job.

He sighed and tried to discard those thoughts away by clutching Clara to his chest. He was spooning her again. As they slept, he had moved away from her and she did so as well, but they always ended up entangled in each other’s limbs, and consequently, those times when she was holding him or he was holding her, he tended to catch his sleep a little longer.

She sighed contently as he held her tighter and he smelled her hair again. It smelt of strawberries. He dropped a kiss on the back of her head and slowly disentangled his arm from under her and grimaced when the blood started circulating through his arm once again. He had forgotten how that position fucked up his arm.

As he tried to make as little noise as possible to get out of the bed, he turned on the lamp, and Clara made a sound of protest, he shushed her and she went back to sleep, but this time rolling around –looking for him, maybe- and clutched his pillow to her chest.

He would’ve loved to have taken a picture right then and there. Her hair was everywhere, he couldn’t see more than her jaw, her parted lips and the tip of her nose. The duvet was covering her from her chest to her mid thigh and she had one leg out. He observed her a little longer, admiring her beauty as she slept. He wanted nothing more than to climb back in bed with her but he physically couldn’t. He was awake and he needed to do something.

He caught sight of the bag where he kept his laptop. It was made in brown leather, it looked a bit worn but it gave it a look of… seriousness that a newer leather bag wouldn’t be able to give it. It was resting on the floor besides the nightstand and he picked it up, turned off the lamp, and padded softly towards the door. As he opened the door, he looked back at her and smiled. He had been trying to control his emotions –old habits die hard- but he figured he could at least show them because there was absolutely no one to be witness of it.

“Oh, Clara.” He whispered with a heavy heart and shook his head as he closed it.

He still didn’t feel worthy of her and he hated that feeling. What could he do to feel worthy of her? He pondered that question as he set his bag on the kitchen island and took out his laptop. As it started running, he turned for the coffee pot to make himself some coffee and then sat on a high top chair in front of the kitchen island and predictably enough, started checking his email. There was absolutely nothing.

“How the fuck can this be possible?” he said aloud to no one in particular and just checked the news instead once he had logged off from his email. The little clock at the bottom right of his laptop indicated that it was 4:15 in the morning and he sighed again. He seemed to be doing that a lot today and the day hadn’t even properly started.

Once the coffee was finished, he poured some milk he had put to warm on the microwave and a bit of cream and sugar. It was a huge mug, meant to give him some energy for the day because he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to bed and to Clara.

As he sipped his coffee, and read some articles, he didn’t hear the door opening. Not that it did a sound, he had fixed that once because he found the creaking of the door highly annoying. However, his eyes remained glued to the laptop as he sipped his coffee, unaware that Clara was just a few feet away from her, sleepily rubbing her eyes and looking at him.

“Is it morning yet?”  She inquired.

He looked up, startled, but couldn’t see her. He turned his laptop towards her and the light it was emitting allowed him to see her better.

“No.” He shook his head and turned the laptop towards himself once again. He was conscious that he was still shirtless and he knew that it was not a sight she would like very much if she did really saw it, but he needed her to see how run down he was, no matter how much he was dying inside of embarrassment. “I’m sorry I woke you up. Go back to bed. It’s still early enough.” He directed his words at her without looking at her. He didn’t want to see her face of disgust or anything at seeing his skinny upper body.

He knew he wasn’t an Adonis. He was lanky and skinny, his arms didn’t have much muscle either and his collarbones were quite pronounced along with some of the muscles of his neck. His chest was a bit flat and he had a bit of a soft belly that was only visible when he sat down. His arms were far too long also.

As he was thinking of the many faults he had; Clara sneaked behind him and hugged him. He tensed at first but then relaxed into her. He tilted his head to the side, so he could look at her and she asked. “What are you doing?”

She had one hand over his heart and the other one was twirling the few sparse hairs he had on his stomach. He found the gesture oddly comforting.

He nodded towards the laptop. “Reading some articles. I couldn’t sleep so...” He gave her a tired smile and turned towards his laptop once again.

She tried to see what he was reading, but that was actually possible if she slacked his hold on him. “Are you always like this? Waking up at…what hour is it?”

“Yeah, and its 4:26am. Usually the pills help but I was in a rather… difficult situation last night. I forgot.” He smirked and kept reading and she started peppering his back with kisses. “You need attention?”

“Mhm. I get incredibly needy at nights and mornings, I don’t know why that is.”

He brought the coffee mug to his lips and took a sip. Since it seemed he wouldn’t be reading anything else with her nearby, he placed the mug on the kitchen island, turned towards her and she wordlessly placed herself between his legs.

“I think-” he started thinking aloud as he looked at her. Her hands had started mapping a path from his wiry arms to his collarbones. She traced them lightly but said nothing, and then her arms settled around his neck, causing him to be a bit slouched so she could do that. His train of thought faltered a little but he retook it and continued. “It’s because during the day we work to have the things we want and during the night, when we get home to what we have… we realize what we don’t have and that makes us feel like that. In your case-” He said as he settled his hands on her hips. “I think you feel alone. Not lonely or you would feel like that all day as well. How do you feel now?”

“I don’t feel alone. I didn’t even got that feeling last night.”

He nodded as he ran his tongue along his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. “That is because you’re not alone anymore.”

“I want to always feel like this.” She knew the implications of that comment and she took full responsibility of whatever consequences it might bring, but she just needed to let him know that with him, thoughts about being elsewhere or doing something else never crossed her mind.

His breath caught in his throat and an uncertain smile made its way towards his lips. “Do you mean that? Or is that some sleep-talk? Because if so, you got my fucking hopes up.”

“I never say something I don’t mean, Malcolm. Like, when I got here I turned off my phone and didn’t even thought about turning it on and go on Facebook.”

He felt guilty after she said that and it showed on his face. It was a light grimace and she picked up on it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I never fucking stop thinking of work, even when I’m with you.” He admitted. “It’s not even your fault and I don’t want you to think it diminishes my feelings towards you, somehow… but you have to understand…” This argument seemed way too familiar to a past argument he had had with Clementine. He was waiting for Clara to start yelling at him about making up his mind. His work or her, she’d say and he knew he would end up choosing his work this time around instead of fighting for the two. It would hurt him if that did happen but someone competent needed to help the country being run and he needed money to keep living because you couldn’t live out of work.

But her next words surprised him. “I understand, don’t worry. Your job is far more important than mine, Malcolm. You have to be reachable, and thinking about it makes you feel in control, doesn’t it?” she played with the hair at the nape of his neck to reassure him that she indeed understood a little bit of what was going on inside his mind.

He sagged in relief, his eyes closed. “God yes.” He opened his eyes and looked down, but his eyesight was clouded, he didn’t really see anything. “If you’re not in control or at least _think_ you’re in control, things can go to shit. It’s a curse; this job. It doesn’t let you rest, you can’t think without thinking about it... It’s like a cancer; slowly consuming every fucking fiber of your being and leaving only a fucked up version of what you used to be. You can’t leave this work until you go fucking crazy or die, whichever comes first.”

Clara tilted his head towards her with her hands and traced his cheekbones, just like he did when they first kissed. “If this job makes you feel that way, you can always leave it. You must have many other job opportunities.”

He let out a humorless-raspy laugh. “It isn’t fucking easy. They won’t let me go until they’ve milked me dry, I’ve seen it happen. Or maybe they’ll sack me, which is fucking unlikely. I’m indispensable. I’m the best there is.”

She stood on the tip of her toes and he lowered his head to make it easier for her to kiss him. She instead kissed the tip of his nose. “Talk about being cocky.”

“I’ve got to fucking own it. At least I’m being honest.” He pushed her hips gently, indicating that she should move and she did. He turned off his laptop while Clara took his mug and drank a bit of his coffee. “You are one lazy fucker, aren’t you?”

“Me?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, you. There’s coffee there; why didn’t you serve your own?” he asked as he put his laptop back in its bag.

“Because you’re the host and I am the guest. You’re supposed to do it.”

“Am not.” He took the mug from her and took her hand, leading her towards the sofa.

“Are we going to watch the telly?” she asked as she settled comfortably besides him. Her head on his bony shoulder, legs under her.

“Do you want to?”

“Not, really. I’d rather talk to you, but do you want to watch the telly?”

He took a sip of his coffee as he threaded his fingers through her hair with his other hand. “No. There’s nothing to watch at four.”

She once again started playing with the hairs on his stomach and he chuckled. “What is it with you and the hairs on my stomach?”

She chuckled as she tugged on them and he hissed. “I don’t know. They’re in a weird place. But I like them. You know, you don’t give the impression that you have hair on any place in your body. You look way too groomed when you’re wearing your suit.”

“I can shave it if you want. In fact, I used to but I soon got tired of shaving it.”

“Then leave them as it is.”

He smiled down at her and thought about kissing her, but he hadn’t brushed his teeth, combine that with the fact that he just drank coffee and it was bound to be a killer mix.

“Let’s go to brush our teeth.”

“Why?” she stood and followed him to the bathroom.

“Hygiene.”

He found a new spare toothbrush and gave it to her. As they brushed their teeth at the same time, Malcolm started tickling her side and she spit toothpaste foam in the sink.

“Malcolm, don’t do that!” her mouth was still white from the foam and she threatened with her body language that she would hit him with her toothbrush.

He raised his hands in surrender as he held the toothbrush in his mouth by biting it. His eyes were full of mischief and his face was red from trying not to laugh she supposed, and she thought that she had never seen a more beautiful person in her entire life.

Right now, life seemed simpler, easier. And as he stood there, behaving like a teenager, she couldn’t mix the image of her Malcolm with the Malcolm he was at work. Right now, they seemed like two different people to her. They were complete opposites but just the same, somehow.

She rinsed her mouth and dried her face while he opened his mouth wide and looked at himself in the mirror as he kept brushing his teeth, one hand grasping the edge of the sink for balance. She hugged him from behind again; it was hard to keep her hands off of him.

He chuckled but said nothing. As he spat, rinsed his mouth, and dried his face, he addressed her. “Are you cold?”

“No...” she moved a bit, her chest still pressed closed to his skin, and made eye contact with him on the mirror. “Why?”

“Your nipples are as stiff as a board.” He grinned at her and turned to gather her in his arms.

“Oh, well, that may not be from the cold.”

“Then from what?” he cornered her against a wall in the bathroom. His hands were now on her hips and hers were around him.

“You’d have to find out, there’s no fun in me telling you.”

He chuckled but before he did anything, he asked. “Can I check what’s happening there?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking for permission.” She teased him.

“Well, I just want to be sure, sweetheart. I want to know I actually read perfectly the sub-text.”

He leaned down and kissed her sweetly on the lips, then tilted his head to the side and kissed her again. It was unhurried, slow and languid. One of his hands went to the back of her head, to get a better control of the kiss as he savoured every inch of her mouth with his tongue. His free hand inched down, towards her right ass-cheek, making her skin break into goosebumps and a moan escaped her.

It was the simplest most erotic thing he had ever heard. There they were, making out slowly in his bathroom while she was wearing _his_ shirt. She couldn’t be sexier to him right now.

As he kissed her, she thought of nothing. There was absolutely nothing on her brain, how could she think when she was being kissed within an inch of her life? It was impossible. All she did was feel.

Feel his lips on hers, his tongue when it made contact with hers, how it sent jolts of pleasure straight to her groin, how his hand fondled her ass-cheek. How he gripped it tight when he suck and bit on her lower lip. To her, Malcolm Tucker was certainly a pro. But she wouldn’t leave all the kissing and control to him, oh no, she would let him enjoy his brief control over her and then she would wait for the right moment to take over. He moved his hands from their current position and sneaked them under her shirt, ghosting his fingers over her belly and ribcage until he got to her breasts. There, he grabbed them a bit tight as he plunger her mouth with his tongue and when she moaned, he pinched her nipples. She could feel him smirking against her mouth.

The moment came when they broke up the kiss to get some air in their needy lungs. She seized the chance and grabbed his hand. It was a bit of half-leading, half-dragging towards his bedroom and he didn’t protest.

“You’re going to leave bruises on my hand, darling.” 

She positioned him in front of the bed, with his back to it. “You want some bruises?” she pushed him on the bed and he jumped on it twice once he landed.

He reclined on his elbows and was about to inch upwards towards the headboard of the bed, when Clara climbed on top of him.

She knew he wanted to fuck her, his actions, his eyes, and most certainly, his dick, said so. But Malcolm, being the stubborn guy Clara knew he was, wouldn’t actually act on his desires. He did have a tight rein on his emotions which was admirable and at the same time tiresome. It made her wonder how much was he actually keeping from her.

She wanted to be in his mind for a few minutes to better understand his world because she liked to think of it in simple terms, but reality told her that his life was much more complicated than that.

She sat exactly on top of his crotch, her legs on either side of him and he just stared at her as if she was the most beautiful thing on the planet. It was slightly disconcerting, and she faltered a little.

No one, not even Daniel had looked at her like that. She was more familiar with his feral-lusty look she had seen as she had been leading him to his bedroom. She bit her lip and looked down, unmindful of the look of fondness and longing he was giving her.

He reached up to tug her down while she was on top of him, and wrapped his arms around her body. He hugged her to his chest, he didn’t even know why; he just knew he didn’t like to see her looking so lost, confused and crestfallen; all at the same time. He caressed her back, then her hair.

“You alright?” he whispered. He feared that talking out loud would shatter this moment, or her.

“Yeah.” She nodded against his chest. “Just… remembered something.”

“If it’s anything I can help you with, you let me know, yeah?”

She nodded again and didn’t answer.

He just tried to comfort her as best as he could. He couldn’t do more because he didn’t have the details, so he held her and whispered sweet nothings to her, trying to bring her some comfort because he felt fucking useless, until she giggled and told him to shut up.

“Well, okay.” He answered. “Tell you what. I came across this article about relationships and apparently we skipped the crush thing and the fucking friendship. Not that I fucking mind, I love to not follow the rules, but… do you mind? We can still be friends, surely? We aren’t doomed to an unsuccessful relationship, right?”

She moved away from him and sat besides him with her legs crossed under her. “It doesn’t always work like that. To me,” he leaned over the bed to pick his jacket from the floor and sat in front of her as he put it on. “If you present yourself as a friend and then you tell me you want to be something more, I am going to think you were just my friend so you could fuck me. I think… I think I like it better this way. You were honest, told me what you expected and afterwards, you even told me you would still be a friend to me even if I didn’t want to do anything with you in a romantic light. That’s better.”

She was still sitting in the same way, back straight, eyes alight, tussled hair and bruised lips. His hard on was now subsided, so he brought his knee up and rested his arm on it as he pondered her answer.

“I think…” he said after a moment. “That you’re right.”

She inched closer to him and took the hand that was resting on his thigh between hers and started tracing his veins. Under the light of his room, he looked paler and his veins were blue. She chuckled and held his hand tighter.

“Have you ever gone to a beach?”

“Yeah, in Spain. But it was brief. Where I really shine is at pools. You should see me with my speedos.”

She laughed and he hesitantly smiled back. He wanted to make her laugh anytime it was possible and even if it wasn’t, he would a find a way.

“Oi, don’t laugh, Clara. I can even do the catwalk for you. I’ve perfected it over the years and the so called ‘blue steel’.” He proceeded to show her what the ‘blue steel’ really was. It consisted of him narrowing his eyes a little bit, an arched eyebrow and his lips frunced.  “I invented it. I had to teach it to the guy from ‘Little Fockers’ and its copy-righted, but everyone thinks it’s his. Fucking hogwash, but I don’t mind, such is business.”

She started laughing harder, using his hand to cover her face and he chuckled a bit. “Shh, you’ll wake up everyone!”

When she was just wheezing for air, he dried her tears with his hand and cupped her chin. “Laugh more often, yeah? You have a fucking bad day, and you imagine me doing the catwalk and the ‘blue steel’. Not only would you be thinking about me, but the thought would also make you happy, and that’s all I care about right at this moment.”

She went for an impromptu hug, but she didn’t realize he was too close to the edge of the bed and they fell to the floor; Clara on top of Malcolm.

It wasn’t like in the movies, where the two lovebirds fall of the bed ‘accidentally’ and start laughing, then time stops and they start making out. It was the complete opposite of that. Malcolm had his eyes closed in pain and a groan escaped him. Clara moved off of him and started touching him everywhere to see where the pain was.

“Oh fuck, Malcolm, I’m so sorry! I didn’t… oh god, shit.”

He groaned again and Clara helped him to sit. He reclined sideways on the bed while rubbing the back of his head and Clara rubbed his back as she kneeled besides him.

“I’m alright. If you wanted to kill me, you could just have waited for us to go outside and you could have push me down stairs. Fucking shitty assassin.”

“Shut up, what hurts?”

“What, you going to kiss the pain away?” he teased.

“It’ll probably make a difference.”

“Well, my back, but that’s alright. Just had the wind knocked out of me for a second and the back of my head.”

She moved his hand away and kissed the back of his head. “Better?”

“No, but I guess I hurt my face as well.”

“Where?”

He pointed to his cheek. “Here.”

She kissed his cheek and he pointed to his mouth. “And here.”

She grabbed his head between her hands and gave him a chaste kiss. “Better?”

“Mhm.” He stood and offered a hand to help her up. “I say we make breakfast. I’m hungry and you’re off the menu.” He faced the door to go out and then towards her. “I forgot to ask, you didn’t hurt anything, did you?”

There was clear concern on his face, something she rarely saw on his face and it was an odd thing to see. His eyes were wider for instance and those eyebrows of his were way too expressive. She decided to play the same game he had been playing when she asked if he was hurt.

“Yeah, my bum. You’re going to kiss the pain away as well?”

He rolled his eyes at her and passed his hands briefly over her ass. “Everything seems to be in prime fucking conditions.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and nodded towards the door. “Now, can we fuck off to make some breakfast?”

“Of course we can do that, idiot.”

* * *

 

As Malcolm made omelets for both of them, she had been helping him by getting the ingredients and watching his agile hands at work. It became more and more pronounced when they were talking, that he couldn’t really answer anything without doing faces, raising his eyebrows or shrugging. More often than not, he stopped what he was doing to move his hands about to express himself. She figured he didn’t noticed it, but that was more than alright with her.

“If someone handcuffs your hands I doubt you’d even be able to talk.” She teased as they sat besides each other as they ate.

The kitchen island had the top made in grey granite –nothing surprising there-, and the high top chairs were black. Malcolm had teased her when she almost couldn’t sit on the chair and she didn’t reply. He had apologized afterwards, not liking it when she ignored him.

He stopped cutting his omelet with his fork and arched an eyebrow at her. “Why‘d you say that? Only person I can see handcuffing me; is you. And talking would be unnecessary.”

She choked and spluttered a response. “J-just that you always talk and move your hands about. You even pause whatever you’re doing to talk.”

“Because I’m fucking giving you my whole attention, love. It’s how it’s supposed to be.” He very stubbornly refused to accept her assessment, not because it was wrong, but because she’d think he wasn’t a man who knew how to multitask.

“Mhm, yeah, whatever you say.” She smirked at him over a glass of orange juice and he pointed his fork at her.

“Watch it.”

“Or what?”

“Nothing, there doesn’t have to be a threat for you to watch what you say to me. Respect your elders.”

“You’re not that old.” She patted his thigh and went back to eating.

He didn’t reply, but instead looked at her as if saying ‘yeah, right’ and kept eating.

* * *

 

It was almost six in the morning and Clara was still at his flat. He had put the plates in the sink afterwards, telling her that he would wash them later, but she told him she would do it. He agreed, he hated doing the dishes, it was something he loathed. He thanked her and sat on the sofa to watch some TV until he had to shower and leave for work at about 7:40.

When she finished, Clara dried her hands on one of the kitchen towels and joined him on the sofa again. She knew she had to leave soon but she didn’t want to. She had enjoyed her time with him immensely and would love to do it again.

“I really enjoyed my time here with you.”

He looked down at her and replied. “As did I.”  Then focused back on the TV.

She stayed silent for a bit, just watching the telly, and asked. “How was your childhood?”

“Pretty fucking bleak. Mom smoked, dad was a drunkard. My sister was a prostitute and I worked selling newspapers since I was ten years old.” He said seriously.

“What, really!?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Of course not, Clara. I had a normal childhood. Loving family, etcetera. I may have broken a cup from a china set once and a few figurines. Yours?”

“Well, you had me there. It just… would have explained your character.”

“A person doesn’t need a tragic back-story to be a-”

“A cunt?” she interrupted.

“First of all, dear, I am _not_ a cunt. Others are cunts. Paxman for example, but I am not. I was going to say that a person doesn’t need a tragic back-story to be a bit of a character like me.” He grinned down at her. “Now, it’s your turn.”

“Well, I had a normal childhood until mom died when I was about 13. She died of cancer… three years later Linda came to live at home… and well… things were not perfect.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He hugged her to his side, not sure of what else to do.

Clara nodded. “It’s okay, I’ve gotten over it. I still think about her, I miss her, yeah? But I remember the last talk we had. She said that no matter what, I should trust my instincts and do what’s right.”

“Wise words, certainly, but you cannot always do what’s right. However, that says that she had a pure fucking heart, which is something some people are lacking.”

“Yep, she was a really good person… so… teenage years? College?”

“Ugh.” He passed a hand a long his face.

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh no. My teenage years are a bit of a blur now. I was an average student, with average grades. On my last year of school I discovered, rock, sex and booze. I totally miscarried myself. Then on college I started taking things a wee bit more seriously. I started enjoying debates and often subscribed myself in them. Good fun.”

“Well, sounds pretty much like my experience, except for the rock part. Let’s say I used to act.” She chuckled. “And except the debate things. But I had great grades in college. It was a nice experience but I wouldn’t like to relive it again. I think I’d die.”

“Since its fucking impossible, you’re safe.”

He checked the hour on the TV. 6:10 it said and he sighed. “I think it’s time for you to go. You need to be at work at seven, right?”

“Yeah.” She groaned and kissed him, then stood up. “Gonna put my old clothes back again.”

She walked to his bedroom to dress as he just sat on the sofa, scrolling through the channels on his the TV, but instead of paying attention to it, he was scheming. He’d have to improve Nicola’s image somehow. As he thought about it, the more frustrated he became, until he came to the conclusion that a meeting with the important staff of ‘The Guardian’-such a prepostitious name for a newspaper-, would be his best alternative.

He’d have to tell Sam to schedule a meeting or something with them the next day so they could talk and manipulate a bit how Nicola had to be viewed by the public. She had to be viewed as someone competent – which she fucking wasn’t-, and someone who had good plans for her department. Surely that could sway people’s way of thinking, couldn’t it?

Clara had dressed again and walked towards the sofa only to see him with his head laying on the back of the sofa, frown in place and looking at the ceiling. “Thinking about work?”

Without missing a beat, he answered. “Work never stops, sweetheart.” He sighed and stood, then scratched a bit.

“Uh, yes, I’m not good at saying good byes.” He said while he walked her towards the door. She turned him around with a hand on his elbow and looked at him with a smile on her face.

“Don’t worry; I can do all the work. Bend, please?”

“Certainly.” He grasped her hips and did as he was told.

She kissed him again; it was just like the kiss he had given her in the bathroom. She was raised on her tip toes, despite the fact that he had his head bent; she still couldn’t reach him properly. She was grasping his head between her small hands and tugging at the hair on the back of his head. She broke the kiss by biting his lip and he let out a small yelp of surprise.

“Sorry, did it hurt?” she looked into his eyes, her pupils blown, just like his.

“Nah, I was just surprised, that’s all.” He moved his hands from her hips and took hold of her head. He was a wee bit sad to let her go like that, but it was temporal after all, they would see each other later or maybe another day.

“So… when we’ll see each other again?” she asked because she simply knew he wouldn’t ask. She didn’t know why he never asked if they could see each other again. _Fear of rejection, maybe?_

“Not today. I’ve had enough of you.” He said as he released her and opened the door.

“Wow, fucking cold.” She punched him playfully in the arm.

He chuckled and swung his arm over her shoulders, laying a sweet kiss on the top of her head. “Maybe in the weekend. I’m sorry I can’t do more. There are huge boxes filled with papers… papers I have to read and discard if they are no longer important.”

“I understand.” She hugged him. “Text me, will you?”

“Will do, boss.” He smiled down at her; she smiled back, and then left.

The apartment complex where he lived had a hallway once you exited the door, and you could easily overlook the parking lot. He went out without shoes to see Clara head off. He spotted her walking towards her jet black motorcycle and anxiety settled down on his stomach like bad Chinese food.

It was a sporty motorcycle, not the classic ones he preferred, and that somehow made it look more dangerous. He saw as she put on her helmet and then she saw him. She made the pace sign at him and got on her bike. He swore he could feel his mouth go dry when she accelerated and drove towards the gate and out of his complex. He walked back inside when he could no longer see her, but he was worried. He had no reason to be, she certainly knew what she was doing, but that didn’t stop him from worrying.

He decided to wait about 10 minutes until he could text her and ask if she was alright. He doubted he could go to work in that state of mind.

Those ten minutes were spent pacing and thinking. The anxiety was eating him away and Clara wasn’t the only source of his anxiety. He was thinking that maybe the meeting with the newspaper should be today. He reasoned it was better to kill the news with a shotgun while they were fresh.

Going to his bedroom, he took his Iphone and rang Clara. She picked up immediately.

“Everything alright? You got home safe, yeah?” he asked while he gnawed on his thumb.

He heard her laugh. “Yeah, I got home safe. Don’t tell me you were worrying about me. You poor guy.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have anything better to do than worry about you, but now that you’re safe and sound, I’ll leave you to get ready for work.”

“Okay and Malcolm?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t work yourself to an early grave.”

“I’ll try not to, and don’t you drive yourself to an early grave as well. You die, I will fucking revive you and kill you with my own hands for not listening to me.”

“Is that your way of saying that I better take care of myself?”

“Seems like it.”

“Hmm. You take care as well. Bye!”

“Bye.”

He hung up and laid down on his bed. On impulse, he grabbed the pillow she had used and smelt it. It still smelled like her and he chuckled because he got the brief thought of not washing the pillow cover so it could smell like her until the smell eventually faded away.

With almost an hour to do as he wished, he went to his bookshelf and picked one of his many unfinished book. He liked to read every once in a while, books were good to save him from the dead silences of his routine, although he didn’t indulge in them much. He liked movies better because they were quicker and he could actually hear someone else’s voice instead of imagining their voice, which always ended up sounding a bit like him.

* * *

 

Once at work, he told Sam about his plan with The Guardian and she said that she could do it, so logically, he set up to work.

His 8:30 meeting was well underway and he decided to go to DoSAC and pay the little fuckspads a visit.

Ollie had his feet propped up on his desk and was throwing paper airplanes at Glenn, who would in turn, scrunch them up in a ball and throw them back at Ollie.

“What is this? Fucking third grade?” he said as a way of greeting.

“Malcolm, the man, the legend!”

“Ollie, enough.” Said Glenn as he got out from behind his desk. “”Well, there’s nothing to do at the moment. Nicola’s just... there in her office, doing her stuff. We’re just waiting to be needed.” He now stood in front of Malcolm, hands laced in front of his belly.

“Ah. So you two are now the boring sidekicks of the retired hero, I see.” He looked from Glenn to Ollie, then sighed. “I assume Sam has called you, yeah?”

“She did.” Said Ollie. “We have a meeting scheduled for next week.”

“No, no. Fuck, listen, that’s not bloody fast enough, yes? I need you to do your magic, Frodo, and arrange it for today, can you do that or do I have to do it?”

One part of him was glad that they had thought already about arranging a meeting, the other one, well, it just wanted to have the meeting well underway.

“Uh… I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Yes, it’ll look desperate, Malcolm.” Said Glenn.

 _I_ am _desperate_ , he thought. “Right, yes. The meeting was to improve her image in any fucking way?”

“Uh, yeah and talk about some issues this department is facing.”

“Anything bad?”

Ollie looked at Glenn and Glenn answered. “No, no, everything’s under control.”

Malcolm stared at both of them, unbelievingly of what he had just been told. He could tell them to tell him the truth but he found he didn’t have the fucking energy. He just stared at them until they caved, which they would.

They started fidgeting until finally Glenn answered. “As I said, everything is under control. The only problem is Nicola… she has a lot of ideas for this department and she apparently can’t grasp the concept that we do not have the funds for any of that-”

“And she keeps insisting that those ideas of hers won’t be in effect immediately, but will probably be in the future.” Interrupted Ollie.

“Doesn’t she know that she has as much power as a fucking paperclip or is she that fucking optimistic? You both are her fucking political advisors, clip her wings, step on them, break them, fucking do something!”

“She’s really that optimistic.” Said Ollie with a shrug and Glenn just walked back to his desk.

“We’ve tried. We’re not as menacing as you, Malcolm. What we need is a Malcolm-shaped airplane to suck free-bird-Nicola through one of its turbines and spit her out as a bloody mess of feathers.” Glenn said and put on his glasses as he started to work on the computer again.

“Unbelievable.” He fished out his Blackberry to ring Nick at the Treasury to see how much funds the department really had. “Can’t believe I have to do your works.” He put the phone to his ear. “But oh wait, I really fucking can because you both-” he pointed at them. “-are fucking useless.”

His brief talk with Nick wasn’t enlightening, at all. However, he realized the horribly bad administration of funds this department had incurred in. Hugh had surely made a mess of things.

He passed Ollie’s and Glenn’s desks and knocked on Nicola’s door before opening it and letting himself inside. “Well, well, well, what are you doing, secretary of fucking state?”

“Oh, Malcolm, hey. Well, it’s nothing important. Just drafting up some ideas.” She smiled at him and put the papers she had been writing on, on a drawer in her desk.

“Hmm. Are you...” he walked towards her desk and leaned over it. “Aware of the state of the funds this department has? Or rather... doesn’t fucking have?”

“Yes, I am aware but-”

“Darling-” he started.

“Do not call me ‘darling’, please.”

“ _Darling_ , I call you whatever the fuck I want. As I was saying, you have as much power as an eighteen year old still living with their parents. An unemployed eighteen year old, to be exact. So in simpler terms, you have no power. You have more funds for pens, _fucking pens_ , than for any project you might wish to do.”

She sighed and reclined back in her chair –a new chair, he noted.

“I know, but I am certain these projects might kick off rather well…”

He stood straight and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, really? You’re certain? Five hundred percent fucking certain? Because then, I want to hear it. Come on, I’m all ears.”

“Well, it’s nothing concrete; as I said, it’s a draft and I still have to tighten it up a bit.” She said nervously as she eyed him.

“Do you want me to open that drawer and check for myself? I’d prefer it if you did show me without any force, you know? I don’t like violence or anything of the like.”

“Who would’ve thought.” She murmured.

“Don’t get sassy with me. It’s unbecoming of you. Show me the draft.” He glared and extended his hand towards her.

She sighed and opened the drawer, extracting the papers from it. “Some _constructive_ criticism is appreciated.”

He took it from her hands and read it for a bit. It didn’t sounded too bad, but it wasn’t good either.

“Well, this… could be something good if it was in the right hands.” He offered mildly and gave her the papers back.

“Yes, I can do it. Trust me.”

“Trusting you would mean putting my trust in your hands. Didn’t have a pretty good experience with your predecessor so I will not do it with you. Just don’t prove me right, that’s all I’m going to say.” He walked towards the door and turned towards her before he left. “Just don’t cock this up, yeah? Looking for a fucking MP is hard.”

Once he closed the door, Glenn approached him. “Is it done?”

“No. But do keep an eye on her. Don’t let her get too crazy on those plans of hers. Encourage the good ones and throw gigantic bombs of shit in the bad ones.”

“Yes, of course.” Glenn walked back to his desk as Malcolm passed them on his way towards the lifts.

He didn’t greet anyone or made small talk with anyone. He wasn’t much of a social man when he was in ‘work mode’. It has always been like that. He liked to be focused in what he did to garner the best results possible. He was a bit of a perfectionist, he knew, but he didn’t view that as a bad thing. In his humble opinion, being a perfectionist and a workaholic to boot; was better than being a lazy sod like Glenn and Ollie because at least he got things done.

* * *

 

Back at work, he retook his small project. ‘How to leak stories’, was pretty fucking self explanatory but some people didn’t seem to get the gist of it. It often came out wrong, more information than what was asked was often leaked, just bloody catastrophes. He was a firm believer in that if you wanted things done right, you had to do them yourself. However, with his busy work, he couldn’t do it himself.

The guide was there with some tips, so if you were a wee bit smart and knew how to read, you’d execute the leaking thing fabulously. He printed it and wrote on a post it note:

_Sam-_

_Send a copy of attached document to that new spad –u- like at Health, yeah? And make sure sillybollocks remembers to ‘Shred After Reading’. Himself or the document, I couldn’t give a fuck._

_-M_

 The chap Sam liked worked closely with the head of the Health’s department and sooner or later, they’d have to leak a story. But what about burying a bad story? Did they even know how to do that? _Fuck no_ , he thought. That’s why they come to him first and when he’s not available, they go to Jamie. Simple logic.

Though they always preferred to come to him because Jamie tended to get a bit mental and break shit up. Like that one time he broke a fax machine over a leaked story. It wasn’t leaked by fax, but by email. Let’s you know how much of a fuck Jamie doesn’t give. If it’s on his way, he destroys it.

Right as he was walking to his office, Jamie stopped him by stepping in front of him.

“Lunch?”

“No, no. I’m not hungry but if you could bring me a fanta, that’d be great.” He said as he put his hands on Jamie’s shoulder and moved him to the side so he could pass.

“Come on, mate. You’ve got to eat something.”

He sighed and gave Jamie a look that said ‘ _we’ve been over this countless of times_ ’. Jamie always asked if he saw him, every goddamn day. The man loved to eat and drink coffee, his metabolism was the fastest thing there is. That’s not to say Malcolm’s metabolism wasn’t as fast, just that while he was at work, the responsibility he had to endure, didn’t allow him to eat as much as he’d like to. He had a queasy stomach; that was something Jamie knew.

“I know I have to and I know I don’t want to.”

“Well, fuck you then.” Jamie started walking in the opposite direction as Malcolm walked towards his office, then he turned around. “Fucking starve, you’ll end up in a hospital, old man.”

“Being in a hospital is my idea of a holiday. Preferably in a fucking coma.” He said and he heard Jamie chuckle, then he closed the door and went straight to his desk once again.

His job was a boring thing when there was absolutely nothing to do. Sometimes he had to make a draft of the PM’s speeches, send them to his advisor and then they’d revise it, add stuff and give it back to him to check, and he would send it back again until it was done. Not nearly as fun as shutting down stories and what not, but it was something.

* * *

 

His work done for the day, he drove back to his place. As he was digging through his pockets for the keys –he didn’t know why he put them in his pocket when he knew he would have to open the door-, he was intercepted by Marco.

This time around, the 20-year old boy was wearing a shirt and trousers. Malcolm observed that they were too tight, just like the shirt. He wasn’t really picky with other people’s clothes, he knew he wasn’t one to talk about fashion; but he really couldn’t grasp why Marco had to wear such tight clothes.

“Malcolm, hey, um…” Marco scratched the back of his head and looked shyly up at him. “I was wondering if you could, um… help me. You see, there’s this man who’s coming over to the flat at 8 or so, to see my paintings and maybe buy one and you know how I am…” he gulped and looked down, waiting for an answer.

He knew how Marco was. He had social anxiety or something, they boy did alright most of the times but sometimes he just needed help. There was one time where Marco had been doing god knows what and he accidentally knocked a crystal vase. Malcolm knew because he heard the shattering and blood-curdling scream of said man. He had rushed to his flat to see what the hell had happened to see that Marco had a deep gash on his left hand.

Marco had refused to go to the hospital because he didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, to which Malcolm had scoffed and told him to shut the fuck up, that he would take him to the hospital, and that was it.

Even though he had social anxiety, he had some friends who came over sometimes, but he was a bad negotiator. Often selling his paintings for less than they were worth, and that pissed Malcolm off .

“Need a negotiator, eh?” he asked as he found the key and opened the door to his flat, inviting Marco in.

He laughed nervously and went to sit by the kitchen island. “Yeah, I’d just tell them about the painting and answer any question and well, you go and set a price for them, do the negotiations bit, please, mate.”

“Alright, okay. I will do that. But you better fucking learn and fast, yeah? I’m not going to be here forever.” He said as he shrugged off his coat and suit jacket, opened the door to his bedroom and threw them on the bed.

“Don’t say that. I hate it when you say that.”

“Listen boy, that’s life.” He took off his tie and threw it on his bed again then walked towards Marco. “Want some booze?”

He shook his head in denial, to both things. “I know that that’s life but… don’t be so trivial about it and I know what you’ll say: ‘But that’s how it is, Marco’. ” he mocked. “And indeed it is like that, but I can’t imagine having to do those things without you.” He confessed quietly.

Malcolm sighed and hesitantly patted Marco’s shoulder. “What’s got your pants in a twist today? You’re being fucking touchy.” He moved to serve himself a glass of water.

“Saw dad on the tube. He didn’t recognize me.”

Malcolm heard him take an intake of air and he waited until Marco had his emotions in check. He wasn’t good with crying people, he had to tread carefully, censor what he would normally say… it was exhausting. It wasn’t that he didn’t have any sympathy for them; it just was that he simply didn’t know how to express that and how to comfort them without making it about him.

“And… I mean, he was a bad father, I know, but I still want his approval on things. I never had his approval and that’s just something I need. I know its stupid-”

“It isn’t, actually. I’m 49 and I still look for my parents approval.” _Here I am, making it about me again_ , he thought. “You’re never going to fucking stop wanting your parents’ approval; that never stops. But you have to know that you’re good and your dad’s approval- or lack of it; isn’t going to change that.”

Marco nodded, still looking at the floor and fiddling. Malcolm sighed and gave him a man-hug, those side hugs men give each other, but Marcus buried his face on Malcolm’s chest. He rubbed his back as he would do to his niece and nephew and a sigh escaped him once again. He had been doing that a lot lately.

“He doesn’t deserve you, pal. Just… focus on yourself and yourself alone, yeah? Just… forget about him.”

Marco sniffed and cleaned some snot from his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m sorry, I know you hate to see me sniveling but I just…” he gulped, let out a chuckle and looked at Malcolm. “I know you’re going to hate this but you’re the closest thing to a father I have and in a way, I want to make you proud as well. I really want your approval, man.”

 _There it was again, the ‘dad thing’._ He bit his lip and massaged his forehead, where his frown was already in place. Despite only helping Marco financially, he had started to care for the boy, in his own way. The boy wasn’t really bright, he was a social disaster, but still, he was able to get through whatever life threw at him and that was a quality Malcolm admired. He was a warrior.

“I know I’d probably regret this but… consider yourself my honorary son, yeah? Done. You have another father and you actually have my approval. You’re a fucking warrior, yeah? I may not know what your father did to you but if you find him again, kick his fucking ass so hard he’ll be picking your toenails from his fucking yellowed teeth. Once you’re arrested, call me and I’ll bust you out.”

“Malcolm, I…”

Marco smiled brightly and Malcolm knew he was going to have to subject himself to another hug if he didn’t stop him. “No more hugs or I’ll be the one kicking your fucking ass.”

“Yeah, okay…” he bounced on the ball of his feet and passed Malcolm on his way to the door. “Thanks for the talk. I’m feeling better.”

“Don’t mention it.” He said pinching the bridge of his nose. “And for the love of fuck, wear something less tight. You want to look professional, not like a fucking walking human-condom.”

“What should I wear then?” Marco asked as he opened the door.

“Something sensible. Jeans and a dress shirt will do. I’ll be there ten minutes early to check your paintings, yeah?”

“Sure, yep! Thanks again!” Marco opened the door and let himself out.

He just downed the glass of water in one big gulp and groaned. He was going fucking mellow, he knew. He never made decisions like the one he just made when people started sniveling in front of him; but now, he just did.

Once in his bedroom, while he was taking off his belt, then his shoes and socks, the brief though of a wank passed through his mind. The brain is a weird thing, really. It’s like it knew what it wanted and once you were alone it went like: ‘you know, it may be a good time for a wank. Maybe you could do it now?’ It was one of those amusing thoughts that only occurred to him in times of stress or sadness. Having a wank was pleasurable and fucking free. He stopped incurring in them because afterwards, when he came, he felt guilty or even lonelier than he was before. So it ended up being a kind of a sad wanking session. _At least it was free_ , he thought.

Then as he was unbuttoning his shirt, he thought, _what if I text Clara and wank at the same time?_ He frowned at himself. That was the sort of shit creeps did.

 _But Clara wouldn’t know you are wanking unless you tell her_ , his brain said.

 _But I would fucking know_ , he answered.

“I’m going fucking crazy, talking with myself.” His phone vibrated and he took it out of his trousers.

\-----

_I’m bored, what are you doing?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Undressing. You?_

_-M._

\-----

He smelled his shirt and it only smelled of cologne. He hung it back on the closet, no one would know. He emptied his pockets on the nightstand, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and his other phone. He unbuttoned his trousers and unzipped them, letting them to pool on his feet. Those were going to back to the closet as well.

He laid down on the bed, wearing only his pants and waited for Clara’s reply. His fingers were restlessly drumming against his belly as he waited. He could feel his nether regions tingling as if begging for his attention but he simply could not do that while he was texting her, it felt wrong.

His phone vibrated a minute later and he took the phone to read the message.

\-----

_Oh, nice! I wish I was there to see that. ;) I’m just laying in bed while Jack (my brother), watches TV in the living room. He stayed last night; I didn’t know he would…_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Well, too bad you aren’t here then. Ah, you had a companion? That’s nice. Is he an annoying brother or just average?_

_-M._

\-----

_He’s alright. A bit overbearing, but he does care about me. You know, there’s something we can do about the ‘me not being there’ thing…_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Ah. What can we do about that?_

_-M._

\-----

_You can send me a picture for instance. I can reciprocate._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Hold the fuck up. You’re proposing to do one of those sexy texts things!? My, my, Clara!_

_-M._

\-----

_You said you were undressing! I just wanted to see you in trousers and the partially open shirt!_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Ah. Well, I was almost finished when I answered I am now wearing my pants._

_-M._

\-----

_Hmm. Maybe for next time, then._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Yes, I’ll try to take one for you. Although I am a bit queasy about that, to tell you the truth. In this day and age, anything can be leaked. The last thing I need is pictures of me half-dressed or more explicit going around the internet._

_-M._

\-----

_Now, that’s scary. In that case, don’t do that then._

_-Clara_

\-----

_However, I can still use some of you. Nothing revealing, just one you would post on the social networks. If you want to send more than one, that’s great, I just want to see you. In reality, I just need one to use as your contact picture. Choose wisely._

_-M._

\-----

She sent him three pictures. One of her at a beach- the caption said that one had been in Spain. Another one of her wearing a short dress and she was holding up a drink in one hand in what appeared to be someone’s house; and the last one, was of her laying on her side in her bed, hair slightly tousled and she was wearing his shirt. That was a picture she had taken and it was recent because it was his shirt.

\-----

_Gorgeous. I need to take you to Spain, then. However, I beg you to not laugh at me once you see my paleness in its full glory. It doesn’t bother me as much when I’m inside, but when the sun hits my skin; I look like a fucking disco-ball. I swear to fuck that I even shine. The last one is recent, innit? Of course it is. You look ravishing._

_-M._

\-----

_Thank you and don’t worry. I like my men pasty white lately. It is recent. Let me see one of you, please?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_It’s hard to figure the right angle… I’m getting pissed off here._

_-M._

\-----

_Come on!! Please try!_

_-Clara_

\-----

 _I can’t believe I’m being bossed around by her._ He simply put his Iphone in camera mode and without moving from his position, all he did was transfer his phone to his left hand and propped his hand against the pillow to take the shot. He was partially reclining against the headboard so when he took the shot and revised it, he could see his face looking back at him. What he saw, was a tired man, with bag under his eyes, mouth set in a slightly pouting way, eyebrows furrowed and the side of his naked chest and stomach.

He didn’t liked what he saw, not at all, but he sent the picture anyways.

\-----

_I look really fucking bad. Like, if this is what you have to stare at when you see me, then I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you._

_-M._

\-----

_Shut it, you. I like what I see and that’s my problem. I wish I could kiss you right now._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Me too._

_-M._

\-----

_And also touch your dick. Goddamn Malcolm, today and yesterday night I didn’t say nothing, but holy baby Jesus, it’s big._

_-Clara_

\-----

He chuckled and typed a reply. He didn’t know why that message stroked his ego as much as it did, it was stupid, really.

\-----

_I haven’t really measured it, so I don’t know how big it is. Glad it didn’t scared you off_

_-M._

\-----

_Are you kidding me? I’m not scared about it, at all. I’d like to do many things to it._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Like what?_

_-M._

\-----

_Wrap my hands around it. Stroke it until it’s hard and heavy on my hands. Lick it, kiss it, and suck it. Maybe even deep-throat. You know, the usual._

_-Clara_

\-----

As he read the message, his dick started getting harder. It had been already slightly hard since when she mentioned his dick initially but now, it was fully hard.

He massaged his cock through his pants and a sigh of relief escaped him. He had denied himself a wank for so long and he tried to imagine that the hands that were currently touching his cock were not his, but hers.

\-----

_I’m having a very hard problem here._

_-M._

\-----

_Stroke it away. :)_

_-Clara_

\-----

He snorted and wrote a hasty reply.

\-----

_The pictures you sent will be of much help. Thanks._

_-M._

\-----

_Here’s another one. Have fun!_

_-Clara_

\-----

The other picture was one she had taken in front of her mirror apparently modeling some underwear. There was nothing sexual about it. But it was a provocative picture nonetheless.

He saved all the pictures she sent him, went to the gallery and decided to do as she said.

He put his phone aside for a moment as he shrugged off his pants. He kicked them out of the bed and laid back down. His cock was long and hard, resting on his belly. He took the phone again and scrolled through the pictures, and he saw the one he had been looking for.

It was the one of her wearing his shirt. He didn’t know why that one was the first one he wanted to look at. He spat on his hand –he knew he didn’t have any lube at hand-, and took his cock in hand. He stroked it in slow movements, up and down, and when he got to the head, he would always twist his hand. That movement always made him see stars.

His breathing started to come in gasps and he looked for the picture of her modeling her underwear. He zoomed on her breasts and kept stroking faster, harder. He really couldn’t see her face in that picture because she was obscuring it with her phone, so he swiped to the next one where he could see her face.

He memorized her face to his mind and closed his eyes. He imagined it was her who was stroking his cock with her agile small hands instead of his rough one. He traced it the shaft with one pale finger and imagined it was her tongue. He then took his cock in hand once again and started stroking in earnest, imagining it was her lips sucking him.

He kept at it, a stream of curses leaving his lips as he felt himself close to cumming. He felt his muscles clench and then he was cumming. He laid there just trying to regain his breathing once again and opened his eyes. It had felt way too fucking real and it was a rather cold reality that greeted him now.  And now he had his cum to clean as well. It was in his belly, mostly, and some spots on the bed.

He went for the shower to clean himself; he’d have to change the bed sheets.

* * *

 

7:50 struck and he was already dressing in black Dockers and a long sleeved dark blue shirt. He put on the same shoes he used for work and headed to Marco’s flat. He knocked and Marco greeted him, wearing jeans and dress shirt as he had been told and as footwear, Converse.

“So, these ones are the ones I have posted on my Facebook page.” He said pointing to 6 paintings.

All of them were of landscapes. One was of green mountains in the background and a cottage overlooking a river. The other one was of the Manhattan Bridge, the Eiffel tower in an abandoned Paris, it seemed, mountains with snow and so on. If it was him who had to pay for these paintings, he would pay good money because they were really well done.

“Well, these two are small. You could sell them for 68 pounds but we’re going to say you’re selling them for 102 pounds. These people always want a discount so we’ll probably end up selling them for 68. They’re going to think we’ve made them a discount but guess what? We fucking didn’t.” He grinned at Marco and walked to the other two. “Well, these are bigger… a hundred and fifty? Yeah, a hundred and fifty. We can maneuver so you can sell them for that or for a hundred.”

“Looks like you know what you’re doing…” Marco said. His phone rang and he answered, saying that yes, they should let the guy in.

“Well, go and show your face outside. I’m going to tidy up some things here.” He said as he physically punched him in the direction of the kitchen.  “Chin up, smile, be gay!”

A minute later, Marco entered with a man in tow. The man looked very tall and slightly buff. But he had a face belonging to a model, so Malcolm ruled out the chance that they might get raped or punched and killed.

“Eh, Malcolm… uh.”

“Sorry for Marco, here. He’s a little shy person. Has he introduced himself to you?” he asked as he walked towards the man.

“Not really. He just sort of directed me here.” He gave Marco a charming smile and Marco turned red. He smirked and extended his hand towards Marco first. “Jack Harkness, pleasure to meet you.”

“T-the pleasure is mine.” Said Marco as he quickly shook his hand, then released.

“I know who you are.” Said Jack. “There’s no reason to introduce yourself. I’ve seen you in the newspapers.”

“Hopefully you haven’t let the newspapers cloud your judgment.” He answered.

“Not at all.”

His phone rang and he took it out. “Marco, show him what you’ve got, yeah?”

He turned around and walked to a quieter side of the flat. “Hello, Clara.”

“Are you home?”

“Um, no. I’m at Marco’s place, my neighbor, why?”

“Well, my brother was coming here and I hitched a ride with him on the cab so… I’m in front of your door.”

He started walking towards the door. “Okay, I’m going there.” He opened the door and sure enough, about ten feet away from him was Clara, wearing a dress and he hung up and called her over to Marco’s apartment. “Come here, little lady.”

Once Clara was close enough, he kissed both her cheeks and led her inside. “I imagine this Jack is your brother?” he said loud enough for Jack to hear.

Jack in turn, turned around and looked at both of them with a surprised expression. “Wait… this is the Scottish man you’re dating?” At Clara’s nod he chuckled. “Oh boy, your dad is going to have a field day if he finds out.” He looked at Malcolm up and down and pointed at him. “I do not have to tell you to take care of her because she knows how to do that and even if she couldn’t do that; you’d take good care of her. I mean, if what the newspapers say about you is true.” Jack turned once again towards Marco and they started talking in hushed tones.

Malcolm reclined against a wall and Clara followed suit. As he looked down at her, she looked up at him and gave him a smile. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too.”

“Did you…” she bit her lip. “Enjoyed yourself this evening?”

“I did. I took the matter in my own hands.” He raised his right hand in front of himself. “This one specifically.”

She laughed silently, trying to not let out any sound and Malcolm chuckled a bit and bent over to look at her face because she was doubled-over in laughter.

“I don’t think it was that funny.”

“Well, maybe not for you, but I didn’t thought you’d do it. I took a  short nap afterwards and you were wanking, oh god.” She breathed in and out for ten second and brushed her tears away. “Although that must have been sexy.”

“Well, what I imagined was pretty sexy.” He said.

They rejoined Marco and Jack, and Malcolm debated with Jack the prices. Jack bought the painting of the Eiffel tower for 68 pounds and then when he was about to leave, instead of leaving Clara, he dragged her with him. She resisted a bit but eventually left because she could see that Malcolm needed some sleep.

Later on, when he was in his flat, dressed in his pajamas and was about to chug down his pill, he received a text from Clara. He gulped it down anyway.

\-----

_I didn’t want to leave, you know._

_-Clara_

\-----

_I know. You didn’t look too happy._

_-M._

\-----

_You didn’t look happy either._

_-Clara_

\-----

_To be honest, that was my neutral face expression. It’s often confused with being grumpy, serious, stick-up-my-ass kind of face._

_-M._

\-----

_It’s a lovely face. It turns me on._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Thank god for small fucking mercies, then. Look, I’ve taken the pill. Might fall asleep at any moment, yeah?_

_-M._

\-----

_Yes, no worries. Just hold tight, Jack’s calling me. Apparently he’s staying over for a while._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Ok._

_-M._

\-----

He waited for as long as he could but the pill roughly took effect in 30 minutes. She had been away for almost seven minutes and he was already nodding off. He connected his phones to their respective chargers and wrote a sleepy text for her.

\-----

_Can’t stay awake. Asleep. Night._

_Love & fucks_

_-M xx_

\-----

She saw the message about fifteen minutes later and grinned. He wasn’t a romantic man, she knew. But the text was so cute and so him… she smiled and walked back to the living room to watch the telly with Jack; tonight the happiness wouldn’t let her get a wink of sleep.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super late update! I've been really busy with school and whatnot, anyway, hope you enjoy!

“I think I should stop listening to you.” Clara said as she cradled her head between her hands.

She had just been thirty minutes or so on her place, just out of the shower, when Amy stopped by her place with Rory. They’ve been talking about her relationship with Malcolm. Clara just listened to Amy talking and giving her tips, but she just stopped her with that sentence.

“Why should you? I mean it’s working so far!” said Amy.

“Well, is he… you know, receptive to your affections?” asked Rory.

“He is. Although sometimes he puts a little distance between us. Like, when he has a laptop in front of him or he’s thinking about work.”

“Ah…” Rory murmured and looked down at his hands, deep in thought.

“Anyways, I think you should keep chasing him, you know? Break his barriers and swoop inside his psyche.”

In that moment, Jack stepped inside the flat, dripping wet. He smiled apologetically at Clara. “Sorry, sis. I’ll clean this up.” He said as he took off his raincoat, and then walked towards Clara, Amy and Rory.

“No worries, he’s my step-brother.” She said to Amy and Rory.

“What she said.” Jack extended his hand to Amy and smiled charmingly at her. “Jack Harkness, nice to meet you.”

Amy shook it with a flirty smile on her face while Rory scowled. “Amy Pond, nice to meet you too, Jack.” Rory elbowed her. “Oh, and this is my boyfriend, Rory Williams.”

Jack released her hand and nodded towards Rory. “Nice to meet you as well, Rory.” Jack winked at him and Rory looked at Clara, confused.

She rolled her eyes. “He’s like that. You’ll get used to him. He’s really flirty.” Then she tugged on Jack’s sleeve. “Go to the bathroom, have a shower and change, please. You’re dripping wet.”

“That’s what I was going to do.” He said then looked back at Amy and Rory. “Any of you want to help?”

“Jack…” she warned.

“It was a joke, Jesus!” Jack chuckled then left for Clara’s bedroom to take his clothes from a bag and disappeared to the bathroom.

“Oh, he’s gorgeous!” Amy gushed.

“He’s a pretty… charming guy.” Rory commented.

“Right, well, anyways… let’s talk about something else, besides work and my relationship, yeah?”

“Ugh, okay… so there’s this new movie…”

They talked about the movie Amy wanted to see. Apparently it was going to be on the theater this week. Amy wanted to see it on the premiere date but Rory couldn’t go with her because he had work that day, so Clara agreed to go with her.

10 minutes later, Jack wandered in the living room and sat besides Clara with a smile. “So, what are you guys talking about?”

“A new movie Clara and Amy want to see. They’re planning on having a girls’ night out.” Said Rory.

“Ah.” Jack frowned and then looked at Amy. “You guys already know the man my sis here is dating?”

They both nodded and she looked at Jack. “What does that have to do with the movie?”

“Nothing at all, just wanted to know. I’m assuming you both have girl talks, so include me in them. Bring me up to date.”

She refused to say anything and Amy followed suit, but Rory decided to talk. “Well, uh. The basics are that Amy suggested that Clara do the chasing and take the initiative. Apparently Clara wants to get him in her, um… bed _or_ get in his bed.”

Jack tutted. “Really? That makes you look easy, Clara.”

She scoffed. “What, men can do it and I can’t? Besides, it’s been two years and he makes me more sexually frustrated than I already am.”

Rory shrugged while Amy laughed. “That’s why I suggested she did the chasing! I mean, it worked for me and Rory.”

“Yeah, but I did the chasing initially! But we have to bear in mind that not everyone reacts the same to a certain… you know, kind of stimuli.” Rory argued.

“He’s right.” Jack said. “Let him do the chasing from now on. Men like to do the chasing most of the times.”

“You know the kind of chasing I mean, right?” she asked.

“Of course I do. Let him take his time. He’ll come to you when he’s ready. Give the old man a chance, yeah?”

She slumped back on her sofa with a sigh and nodded. “Alright.”

Jack chuckled and squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, it’s not the end of the world.” Jack turned to Amy and Rory. “Have you two seen her and Malcolm together? They can’t keep their eyes off each other. There was so much eye-fucking going on.” he chuckled. “He’s clearly besotted with her. What I think is that he just wants some time to… I don’t know, make things right.”

“Makes sense.” Said Rory. “That was the same reason I was resisting Amy’s charms but I’m not quite as controlled as Malcolm; I think is bit early to tell how controlled he is. I mean, you’ve known each other for like, a week or less? Not judging here, you know, but perhaps he wants to be with you for a month before getting intimate with you.”

“You’re so clinical, Rory.” Said Amy as she passed a hand through her hair.

“Sorry.”

“Well.” Jack cleared his throat. “I want to take a walk. How about we call a cab and go to St James’ Park? Maybe you can see your guy.”

“He’s not out until six.” She protested.

“Well, that’s great then. We just wait a little longer here until five. Hail two cabs and leave for the park.”

“Actually, I’ve got a car. We can go in mine.” Rory offered.

“See? He’s got a car. We don’t even have to spend money, how cool is that!?” Jack grinned at both of them and silence settled over them. “So… anyone want to hear any of my jokes?”

“Oh god, no.” she covered her face with her hands. “None of the dirty ones, Jack!”

“Well, I am certainly intrigued.” Said Amy. “Spit them out!”

“Right, well there’s this one about a cow and a man…”

* * *

 

“I swear to whatever entity is up there that I’m going to fucking carve his heart out with a spoon and feed it to his fucking fat dog. Fuck!” he said as he massaged his temple.

The day had been going great for him, but apparently, good days were not to be had. Despite the fact that the PM had a driver of his own, he had decided to drive his own car for a change and he had crashed on a lamppost. The guy was alright, but he surely wouldn’t be for much longer because Malcolm was going to kill him himself.

He had been stupid and negligent. The guy basically had a cocktail of meds and apparently, they had clouded his judgment.

“You’re going to see him?”

“Yeah, Jamie, I’m just going to the hospital, see how he is and yell at him. I mean, Tom practically pours his pills on a bowl, fills it with milk and chug it down as if it were fucking corn flakes. You’re in charge.”

“I know. Break his fucking spleen.”

“I’ll try to.” He said as he got out of his office. “Let’s just hope that what was remaining of his brain didn’t leak out of his ears. See you around.”

He hung up and called one of the drivers to pick him up as soon as was humanly possible. As he waited, he fished the pack of cigarettes out of his pockets and took one out. He thought better of it and put it back on its pack, then pocketed that as well; it wouldn’t do to smell of cigarettes in a hospital.

Earlier that day, he had read the message he had sent Clara. He barely remembered writing it and truth to be told, the content was a bit embarrassing for him. _‘Love and fucks’ what was I thinking?_ , he thought as he waited for the black car. He wasn’t thinking, that’s what. On that article he had read, it said that to express you liked someone, you could text them a good morning message; apparently women liked that sort of thing.

Although it made some sense, he supposed. A good morning message meant that the person you were sending it to was basically the first thing you thought about in the morning. That was some sappy fucking reasoning. He didn’t think about her much in the morning. He spared her about a minute and then it was all work. He’d go mentally over his past days’ routines and then through what he was supposed to do for the day. Sending a message to Clara implying that she was the first thing he thought about was lying. And he said he wouldn’t lie to her.

Then he was going to send her a text during her lunch hours but he didn’t want to appear needy. He had often criticized people when they couldn’t stop sending text messages to their significant others, often calling them ‘needy cunts’, but lately, he was turning into one and he understood. It was not that he was being needy. He just wanted to know how she was doing, if she had eaten, how was she feeling, those kind of things, to assure himself that she really existed , was currently involved with him and because he cared about her.

He had yet to invite her out in public, but he didn’t want to expose her image like that. He’d expose her if she wanted to when they became a more concrete matter, but for now, they’d remain in the shadows. He would’ve loved to hold her hand as they walked the street and such silly things he wouldn’t have imagined himself doing anymore because he had thought that all traces of his loving past-self had died with Clementine. He was glad to be proven wrong.

The black car stopped in front of him, he told the driver the name of the hospital and they left. Putting on his seatbelt, he turned to look at the window as he often did when his gaze wasn’t trained on his Blackberry.

Everything looked so fucking clean… it made him feel slightly uncomfortable. Everything was where it was supposed to be, the colour it was supposed to be and exactly the size it was supposed to be.

Same thing happened with people, he reasoned. Humans put them where they were supposed to be. Even your family’s wealth got you where you were supposed to be. Only a few people actually broke that cycle; either because they didn’t know how to administer that money and ended up owing money to banks; or the rare few – like himself – that came from humble roots and made it to the top.

Jamie had already briefed him on what was going on among the reporters and journalists. They were speculating that Tom was pissed and that’s why he had that accident. Tom was widely known for having his occasional beer during the day; something Malcolm had scolded him for because it damaged his image. But Tom rarely listened. The fact of the matter was that those people weren’t far from the truth; with Tom’s meds, if he downed them with alcohol he could have very clearly occasioned the accident he just caused.

He’d have to ask Tom personally and see how he could deal with the information and twist it in a favourable way. A way that wouldn’t make the PM look irresponsible.

As he abandoned the car and told the driver to wait for him, he buttoned his suit jacket and made his way to through the reporters that were already waiting for some news.

“Mr. Tucker, is it true that the Prime Minister-”

“Sir!”

“Mr. Tucker, could you please say something regarding the-”

“All I can say is that once I have the concrete information, I will let you all know, thank you.”

As he was led inside by some of the guards that came to his rescue, he asked for Tom and was directed to where the PM was.

Tom Davis sat on the bed, he was wearing his clothes, the only thing he broke apparently was his nose and his neck hurt a little bit.

When Tom saw Malcolm, he grimaced and sent the nurse that was attending to his broken nose away so he could talk to Malcolm in private. Malcolm muttered a ‘thank you’ to the nurse and then stared at Tom; unbuttoned his suit jacket, and put his hands on his hips, his lower lip between his teeth.

“I want to hear from you just what the fuck happened.”

Tom pressed the packet of ice to his nose. “I crashed the fucking car, that’s what happened!”

“I fucking know that, you useless bag of cum! You know what the press is saying? That you were drunk and that’s why you crashed. Did you drink something?”

“I did, yes…” Tom said warily.

“Well?” he pressed.

“Just a bid of vodka, that’s all.”

“How much!? 8 ounces? The whole fucking bottle? I’m not your enemy here, Tom. I’m trying to do my fucking job and if you stop obstructing it and cooperate, I can be done with this sooner and stop them from getting any other wild ideas in their heads.”

“I don’t remember. I drank it to gulp down my pills.”

“The PM doesn’t know how to drive, but he also doesn’t know how to read. Fucking illiterate PM.” He sneered at Tom. “This is what we’re going to do. You say that there was a problem with your brakes. That at the moment when you noticed this you tried to stop, by hitting the fucking lamppost.”

At Tom’s incredulous look he let out a humourless laugh and scratched the back of his head. “We can’t say that you were high as a fucking kite because you mixed fucking vodka with your bloody pills. You say that, I’ll deal with the rest, yeah?”

“Deal. But what are you going to do to prove that that happened?”

“You leave that to me. In the meantime, get your face fixed.” He turned for the door and called the nurse in, then turned towards Tom. “Well, to get it fixed you’d have to be born again, and with a functional brain, if that isn’t too much to ask.”

He asked the staff of the hospital if there was a backdoor or something, he didn’t feel like dealing with the hacks again. He called the driver once again and told him where to pick him up. Once inside the car, he dialed Jamie.

“Everything okay with Tom?”

“Yeah. He made a cocktail of his pills with actual vodka.”

“That fucking idiot!”

“I know. We have to make it look as an accident. Some failure with the brakes or something that would’ve occasioned the accident. You have contacts that work in the police station, yeah?”

“Sure do. I’ll see what I can do to make it look like that on the reports. We’ll be telling that to the press?”

“Yes, but not today. Today we’ve got to say that Tom said there was something wrong with the car, the brakes didn’t responded and the only way to stop it was by crashing into that fucking lamppost and that we’re waiting for the reports to see what it was.” He chewed on his thumbnail as he looked out of the window.

“Sounds good. Will pass along the information.”

“Right, I’m almost there. I’ll join you shortly.”

He hung up and looked at the hour. 6:10pm. By the looks of it, he wouldn’t be out earlier today. He was oddly thrilled by that. After days of doing nothing, he was actually back in action, being actually useful.

As the car drove down Downing Street to leave him in front of Number Ten. He saw the familiar figure of Clara in the distance, accompanied by two men and a redhead. He got out of the car and looked up and down the street to see if there was anyone that might be looking at him, but those who were outside, were only interested in whatever they were currently doing.

Clara was under a tree talking to Jack, her back towards Malcolm and she was pointing in the direction of St. James’ Park. He would’ve loved to sneak behind her and hug her, but he couldn’t do that. There were some cameras installed outside of Number 10 and he knew it was a mistake to even be approaching her, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He knew it was her the moment he saw her, because he could recognize the shape of her head, the colour of her hair and her petite stature practically anywhere. It was one of the things he liked about her. She was wearing sporty clothes this time. Jeans, black boots and a royal blue shirt with the leather jacket he had seen before.

Jack had noticed him first, but Malcolm merely raised a finger to his lips -indicating that he should stay silent.

He sneaked behind Clara, close enough to touch her but he still didn’t; with his hands laced behind his back.

“Are you lads enjoying yourselves?”

Clara yelped and turned around to face him, but upon seeing his serious expression, she refrained from touching him as she was about to do. “Uh, yes. Coming here was actually Jack’s idea. Well, uh, this is Amy and Rory.”

He nodded towards them and shook their proffered hands, remembering Amy from their last encounter but introduced himself anyway. “Malcolm Tucker.” He said, and then nodded at Jack, who was still in the back watching their interactions like a hawk.

“I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve actually got work to do. A major fucktastrophe has happened and I have to fix it.”

“Oh… damn.” Muttered Clara.

“Well, that’s a bummer, certainly.” Said Jack.

“Yes.” He said as he looked intently at Clara. He glanced at her lips briefly and gave her a small smile. “I’ll be in contact.”

“I seriously hope so. It was good to see you.”

“Hmm, if you go to St. James’ now, there’s an Inn. They make good food, do enjoy yourselves.” He nodded at them.

Malcolm left them and never looked back at them, not even when he opened the door and went in, after all, he needed to be in ‘work mode’ because the show was just about to start; and by show, he meant the scheming and manipulation of the press.

* * *

 

“He doesn’t seem to be the warm type of guy. He’s rather cold.” Said Amy as she walked a path between the tress as she huddled closer to Rory.

“He really isn’t. I don’t think he’s comfortable with public affections or maybe it was because of the cameras.” She reasoned.

Amy grunted and said nothing. Clara turned to look at Jack who had his gaze trained on his feet as he walked.

“Do you have any opinions, Jack?” she asked softly.

“No, no. He sure seems busy… I’m not really sure that he can juggle a relationship and his work; I mean… he didn’t even touch your shoulder or anything. But that’s not my problem.”

 _Damn right, it isn’t_ , she thought. She then felt bad about thinking that. Jack wanted to help, he always did, and he worried too much about those he cared about. It seemed rude to be thinking that when he was only expressing his concerns.

“Well, that’s what we’re going to find out as more time passes… I’m hopeful that maybe he’ll be able to do so. There will be days when we won’t be able to talk but that’s alright, I suppose. I don’t mind being abandoned for a while.”

Jack gave her a look that clearly said: ‘you liar!’ but she ignored it. It was partially true. She didn’t mind being forgotten for a while, but a text a day would be ideal. However, she couldn’t ask that of him. She didn’t want to be one of those women that asked their boyfriends or husbands to text them every day about what they did and what not because she didn’t want to look clingy.

But she would be upset if he didn’t text her, that much was true. She knew she would just wait for him to text her first; she wanted to see if he would actually think of her and text her. Just one text; that was all she was asking for. If she didn’t got it, well… she would deal with that issue if it happened.

* * *

 

“Got my contact to fix the report to say that there was something wrong with the brakes. Sorry for taking a while, couldn’t be in contact with him sooner.”

“It’s alright.” Said Malcolm as he ate a Satsuma. He offered some to Jamie but he shook his head in the negative. “Right.” He stood and followed Jamie towards what Jamie called ‘The Concentration Camp’.

He cleared his throat. “Everyone, get ready for fucking phase two. We shut the whores at first and promised to call back, now we’re going to inject this information hard and fast through those fucking phones. Just say what Jamie tells you and if they ask anything else, talk with Jamie first and remember, if Jamie is busy and it’s urgent, come to me. If it’s not, bullshit your way through it and write your lies in a notepad. Are we clear?”

A chorus of yeses and yeahs were heard and he nodded towards Jamie. “Get the info running. I’m going to be in my office drafting a statement for Tom.”

He spent nearly an hour drafting Tom’s statement and then left again for the hospital because the doctors wanted to check he was really alright. Sometimes fractures on the neck were not evident for a few hours and they wanted to make sure everything was in order.

Once there he gave said statement to Tom so he could memorize it and say it in front of the cameras.

“Do you need me to read it to you? Because you clearly can’t fucking read.” He said.

“Skip the fucking abuse, Malcolm. It’s getting old.” Tom said as he snatched Malcolm’s paper from his hand.

Malcolm had come with his usual stack of folders and his journal. The only other person besides Malcolm and Tom in the room was Tom’s political advisor, David. He barely spoke, unless he was spoken to, and Malcolm didn’t pay the man much attention. He was bald and had a no-nonsense attitude about him. He had quite a strong profile to boot and Malcolm sometimes doubted that David was from Britain. David looked as if he were from the Ukraine.

As he waited for Tom to memorize the speech, he sat on a vacant chair besides the bed, and took out his Blackberry to check his emails. He forwarded all of them to Sam so she could deal with them and just scrolled through the answered emails, his drafts and then he put it back on his pocket.

“Have you memorized it already?” he asked after 30 minutes. His anxiety levels were skyrocketing, and he wanted to have a cigarette. Now.

“It is not fucking easy. I’m almost there, give me thirty minutes more.”

“For fuck’s sake.” He muttered and dragged a hand across his face, only to find David looking at him. “The fuck are you looking at?”

“Nothing. You just seem to lose you composure after being here for a little more than thirty minutes. You have to work on your patience. I’ve been here practically all day.” David crossed his legs and reclined back against the chair.

“You don’t tell me what to fucking do, Dave.” He retorted and glared at him.

David glared back and after a few seconds, David looked away. Malcolm smirked, seemingly satisfied, and took out his iPhone.

\-----

_Any news?_

_-M._

\-----

_No. Forwarding the information as we were told. No trouble at all. Also said that Tom was going to give a statement. There are possibly going to be more cameras there._

_-J_

\-----

_Good job._

_-M._

\-----

He sat on a chair and reclined back; legs outstretched in front of him, his folders resting on his belly and closed his eyes, to rest them. The lightened room and the bright whites and blues were giving him a headache. He once again remembered why he hated hospitals. The sterile smell of everything wasn’t enough, apparently; and the memories he had of it were not helping him either. He would try his hardest to never set foot in a hospital ever again from now on. He knew that was a bit irrational, after all, accidents happened, but that wouldn’t mean he wouldn’t at least try.

Ten minutes or so passed and he opened his eyes once again to glare at Tom, who started reading the statement aloud. His voice sounded congested and his nose appeared to have been fixed, it was still swollen but that was to be expected.

He took out his Iphone and composed a text for Clara. He was terribly bored. That’s not to say he was just texting her out of boredom. He figured that while he was doing nothing, he might as well establish some contact with her.

\-----

_Busy?_

_-M._

\-----

_Not really. Went to eat to the Inn; thank you for suggesting it by the way! And now we’re just walking around. What are you doing?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Hospital._

_-M._

\-----

_Are you alright? Which hospital?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_I am working here. The PM crashed his car. I’m sort of prepping him up to give a statement._

_-M._

\-----

_Oh, thank God. I thought you had an accident. Please, say more next time. Being monosyllabic like that makes me jump to conclusions._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Sorry about that. What are your shifts for the rest of the week and the next?_

_-M._

\-----

_Well, same thing this whole week. 7:00-4:00 and I’ve got Friday and Saturday free._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Okay. Well, I’ve got to go. Tom’s going to make his statement. Let’s hope he doesn’t cock it up._

  1. _You looked beautiful today, as always._



_-M._

\-----

He pocketed his phone and stood, leading the way out of the room, leaving Tom and David to trail behind him. Once they were given the clearance in the front desk, he turned to Tom.

“Assess your authority out there. You’re the daddy of them all, politely tell them to shut their gob and when they do, give your statement and we’ll walk to the car and be done with it, yes?”

At Tom’s nod, he pointed to the door. “It’s show time. Don’t cock it up.”

* * *

 

The statement was a complete disaster. Tom remembered some of it, but not all of it and thanks to that, he improvised. He had been _spontaneous_. So he had blubbered some shit about a new policy he would write up about people having to check their cars with a mechanic every month.

He was beyond pissed.

He had already started getting calls and he answered them, as best as he could saying that more information on the matter will be rectified tomorrow, all the while glaring at Tom who would not meet his gaze.

Even David knew it was a bad idea because he was massaging his temple and writing on a notepad possible ideas to make that impromptu policy seem nice. This was a foolish attempt because no one would do that. It was just like fucking seatbelts, the way he saw it. The policy would try to ensure every citizen’s safety but they wouldn’t do it, just like seatbelts. People only used them when the cops were nearby or out of habit.

They had left Tom at his house, and then the two of them –without counting the driver- went back to Number Ten.  He was chewing the inside of his cheek as he answered some emails when David spoke.

“This is the stupidest thing he has proposed. We can’t let that grow bigger.”

He reluctantly agreed with David. “Yes, but it’s fucking out, yeah? You should have stabbed him when he said that.”

“I wasn’t aware he was going to say that. You could have cut him off.”

Malcolm ignored him and continued typing on his Blackberry. “Here’s BBC inviting him to talk about his accident and the policy. We should just throw him there and make him kill the policy himself.”

David scratched his chin and nodded. “Sounds good, yes.”

They didn’t talked more until they arrived to Number Ten, where they gave each other solemn nods and went to do whatever they had to do.

* * *

 

Wednesday gave way to Thursday, then Friday and next thing he knew, it was Sunday once again. He hadn’t talked to Clara as he said he would. He didn’t promise he would be in contact, at least not explicitly, but he had failed to do that.

The remaining of Wednesday was spent drafting what to say and what not to say about the PM’s new idea/policy, whatever you want to call it. Everyone wanted to have a scoop on what was it about first, when the heart of the matter was that they didn’t know. It was improvised, he wanted to scream at all of them, but he could not. It was the PM, for fucks sake. He couldn’t say it was an spontaneous thing because then people would believe some of his decisions were made out of spontaneity. It would diminish his credibility.

Thursday consisted of Malcolm and David locked up in Tom’s office throwing shit at each other. David would give an idea and Malcolm would object and say why it was shit. Same thing happened with Tom. Malcolm knew he wasn’t Tom’s political advisor –and he wasn’t advising nothing- but he was in fact, telling him how it would look to the press, the people. His job was to make someone as likeable as they could get. Malcolm and David went to three TV shows that day while Jamie was in charge of the Communications department. The latest one was a brief news segment at 11:00 and he ended up going home at roughly 1:00am because they wanted to talk with the PM, everything he said was off-the-record, of course.

Friday was spent dealing with the backlash of those news segments and Friday consisted of meetings with newspapers and after said meetings were done; he had to manipulate them however he could to get what he wanted printed. The guy who wrote on the record that it was the brakes that occasioned the accident did a good job, but there were a few ‘experts’-i.e. Journalists- that said that the scene didn’t look as if it was occasioned by broken brakes. He quickly broke their will to talk with some unsavory information he had gathered from said journalists and threatened to discredit them with said information.

It was a dick move, but he was so far in politics that he didn’t even care. As he had said before, politics was a war and the man with the bigger guns won. Or in this case, the smart man with the right information.

It was Saturday, and he was in his parents’ home. Lydia Tucker nee-Blackwood and Benedict Tucker were in their early seventies. Neither of them suffered from Alzheimer –as it was common in older people- and the only problems they faced were diabetes and hypertension.

Lydia had white hair, while Benedict had yellow-y kind of white hair. It was the remnants of his once blond hair.

Father and son sat on the table sipping coffee while Lydia cleaned the kitchen counter, and joined them afterwards. Inadvertly, Malcolm had dressed exactly like his father. Black dockers, sensible shoes, white shirt with a collar underneath, but the only different thing were the colour of their jumpers. While his father’s was a brown jumper with a V neck; Malcolm’s was green.

“How’s work, Malcolm?” asked Lydia as she put her hand on his knee and gave it a squeeze.

“Okay, ma. You saw the news, yeah? Well, that whole fuckery with the PM… I had to deal with that.”

Lydia used to scold him when he swore, but she could hardly do much now. After all, Malcolm took after his father who cursed like a sailor. Benedict had curbed his habit when he was surrounded by his grandchildren. On one occasion Benedict’s cursing was not appreciated.

Malcolm had taken him and Lydia to a bingo night and the suspense made Benedict swear. Malcolm chuckled and whispered curses but one of the women in front of him didn’t take kindly to it.

“Could you please tone the swearing down-”

Benedict had cut her down before she finished. “Certainly.”

“Yes, thanks, it’s just that I’m religious.”

“Well, in that case, fuck you very much, ma’am. Not everyone believes in a fucking God, you tramp.”

He had been kicked out and so were Malcolm and Lydia. Benedict was a veteran from the war and he had seen many people die and starve; it was impossible to believe in a God for him. However, Lydia was a catholic fellow woman, but she didn’t push her religion down anyone’s throat. That’s how they were all able to coexist.

His father interrupted his train of thought by scoffing and lowering his newspaper, folded it neatly and put it on the table. “That Tom guy is fucking crazy. That policy is a joke.”

“Wish it was.” Muttered Malcolm. “It was a spontaneous thing. I drafted up what he was going to say and then he cocked it up and decided to get fucking creative. That story it’s mostly dead. The rest is up to the public to express how much they hate said policy and sink it.”

“Like the Titanic.” Said Benedict.

“Exactly. Like the Titanic.”

Lydia pursued her lips and looked at both men. “I think it’s a good time as any to tell you that Helena is coming over with the kids. We’re going to have some nice family time.”

“Good, good. I haven’t seen the kids in a while…. Say, Malcolm; Helena tells me you took the kids to Jamie’s.” Benedict gave him a tight-lipped smiled and raised his eyebrow at him as Lydia looked at him.

 _Am I being gang-banged? Or about to get gang-banged?_ “Yes, we went there. There were other kids and we had fun. I didn’t know taking care of kids was that hard. Makes me happy to know I haven’t got any.” He smiled at them and took the newspaper from the table to read it.

He hid behind it and began reading a random page, unmindful of the look his parents’ shared. They eventually moved to the living room and later on, his sister was at the door, knocking on it. His mother opened it and after all the greetings were done, he breathed a sigh of relief when he couldn’t see Craig.

“I didn’t know Craig worked on Saturdays as well.” He commented.

“Oh, he doesn’t. He’s just taking the kids’ bags from the car. They’re staying here until tomorrow.” Helena gave him a syrupy-smile and his stomach clenched.

She only smiled at him that way when she knew some juicy news, which meant that Craig had told her that he had seen Clara, and knowing Craig, he most likely exaggerated some of the events at his home.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Malc. It’s okay, by what Craig tells me, you two surely looked besotted with each other.” She smiled at him sweetly again and she was lucky they were surrounded by people because he would have strangulated her.

“What is she talking about?” asked Lydia as she held Alec on her lap.

Craig heard the question as he was closing the door behind him and without missing a beat, he answered for Malcolm. “He’s got a girlfriend. Nice girl.” He breezed past Malcolm’s, effectively avoiding the punch that was directed at his stomach and went upstairs to the spare bedroom.

“And you didn’t think about telling us?” asked Lydia, she had a sort of hurt expression on her face as she looked at him and he couldn’t stand it. He hated when his mom looked like that.

“It’s fairly new. Just a week…”

Voicing it out loud made him realize how weird everything sounded. _Just a week and she had already met my niece and nephew_ , he thought.

“I was waiting until it was more serious.” He continued. “Fuck, it’ll look crazy if just after a week I introduced her to you.”

She nodded and paid attention to Alec but he could tell that his mother’s curiosity had been peaked. Ever since his not-so-gentle break-up with Clementine, she had been a little crestfallen. She had expressed that she wanted to see him married and they’ve had discussions where she always told him to quit his job because it was leaving him without a life, but he never listened.

“I noticed Craig said ‘girl’. How old is she?” asked Benedict.

“Twenty-eight. That…makes me twenty-one years older than her. Or twenty and some months.”

His father whistled as one might do when you see a hot girl passing by. He shared the sentiment, he really did. How many times had that same whistle sounded in his mind when he saw Clara? Countless of times. He occasionally couldn’t even believe she was present when they were together. He thought it was normal of him to think that. It was like having your life turned upside down and you occasionally revised the changes in your mind to make sure they did really happen.

Craig came down stairs and sat besides his wife –who cuddled close to him- and thus, avoiding Malcolm.

“So… what are the illnesses infecting our kids this year, Craig?” he asked out of politeness.

Craig shrugged. “Colds, mostly. That’s about it. Nothing major. The occasionally constipated fat kid, and that’s all.”

Malcolm nodded and didn’t ask anything else. The TV was turned on, and they all sat silently watching it. It was odd, being here and doing that. They did not do it often, but when they did, he didn’t feel as alone as he used to. It was like being a kid once again, watching the TV with his parents and sister, but now, the family was slightly bigger. There was Alec, Lindsay and their father, Craig.

Craig was a nice guy (for a cunt); but he was good to his sister and his niece and nephew, and that’s what was important to him. In the ten years he had been with his sister, not once, had she complained about him. Except about trivial things like, ‘he always leaves his clothes on the floor’, ‘he burps a lot’; those kinds of things.

He broke his gaze from the TV to look around him, only to see his parents’ huddled close together, and to his right, Craig with his sister, and on the floor, Alec and Lindsay doodling. He really felt as if he was intruding in a place he ought not to be, which was ridiculous because he was supposed to be here. However, he didn’t really fit here.

He had dinner and left to his place, to catch up on some much needed sleep, but before that, he phoned Clara.

He wasn’t really surprised to note that she didn’t pick it up. He had practically abandoned her. He left her a voice-mail, if anything; it would make him feel less guilty.

“Clara, it’s me. Malcolm. Listen, I… this week has been real busy for me.” He scratched the back of his head. He was sitting on his side of the bed, in his pants, fresh out of the shower, and his hair still wet. “I know that’s no excuse but I really couldn’t afford to keep my mind on you when I had some issues to deal with. You were often on my mind, Clara…when I wasn’t busy.” He let out a chuckle out of nervousness. He wasn’t used to feeling that, it was an odd feeling. “I hope you didn’t pick up because you were sleeping or busy doing something else and not because you’re mad at me. I think… you have a right to be? I don’t know, I would be upset, but never mad…Take care. Bye.”

After that, he went to bed. His mind filled with thoughts of Clara and how he could make it up to her.

* * *

 

If he had learned something from his dream was that a romantic approach would work to get on Clara’s good graces. He still didn’t know if she was mad at him but he knew that something needed to be done.

He grabbed his laptop once again, as he always did when he was not at work, and checked his work-email once again. Here he was, doing it again; putting his work first and his life second. Would it ever change? He knew for a fact that it would not. Not as long as he was still working for the government. One of those intrusive thoughts made his way to the forefront of his mind. _If I leave my job and get an easier one, I could have time for Clara._ As fast as it came, he dismissed it. Those were the kind of thoughts men in their midlife crisis had.

He wasn’t like those mindless men, he knew that, and yet… the idea did sound appealing. He could have a normal job, somewhere else. He wouldn’t be able to be a journalist; that was out of the equation. He had too many enemies and he despised the joke that had become journalism in the past years as to become part of it. No, he would have to be something else. A profession he could still do and still be a figure of authority.

_A university professor?_

He frowned in disgust. Never in his wildest dreams would he want to be a fucking professor. He hated them.  He mainly hated how they tended to undermine the student’s capacity to understand things, the way they told you the glorious wonders of a job and then you were face with the cold-hard reality that what they painted to you, -made you imagine-, isn’t what it is. It is instead shaped with lies, threats and manipulation. Yes, he was talking about journalism.

Even after years of not working for a newspaper, he still resented the professors and the newspapers themselves. _They made me what I am today. A fucking husk of a man. Only living to work for this shit, never feeling quite satisfied._

He had only ever felt remotely satisfied when Clara was around, but even when she was present, thoughts about his work were lurking behind, haunting him. His logical side told him that the problem was the job; he should drop it and get another one. But would he be doing it for Clara or for himself? He didn’t know anymore. He needed to think that thoroughly.

He answered two emails –the only ones he had- and looked up houses for sale. He wanted a big house. He liked the outdoors and a sizeable backyard was preferred. _If_ he got another job, he would have more time on his hands. He could take to gardening or something equally time-consuming. But the good houses that appealed to him were way too expensive. He could afford them, but if he waited until the market dropped a few thousands, then he would get it for a cheaper price. He knew for a fact that the market was decaying, if he waited and no one else bought the houses, he could buy one cheaper in the summer.

It was two pm and the idea of cooking for Clara crossed his mind. She still hadn’t called him, but what if he sent her flowers and a cheesy note? He dialed Sam and she quickly picked it up.

“Hello, Sam, could you do me a favour?”

“Yeah, sure, what is it?”

“Do you have the number of that fucking flowers’ shop?”

“Yeah, let me look up on my bag… why do you need it? You killed someone and have to give your condolences?”

“Ha ha, too fucking funny. But no, personal matters, will explain later. I need you to call and make an order for a vase of roses. Red and white, whatever, just roses that look nice together and a card.”

“Okay… found the number. So, red and white roses, yes? And what’s the card going to say? Where do I send it?”

“I’ll text you the details, okay? Charge it to your card, please. I’ll add the money to your next paycheck.”

“Will do, boss.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

He hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. Now came the hard part. What should he write? ‘I’m sorry, come by at 7:00’? Or maybe he could write some sort of limerick or a verse. He chewed on his thumbnail. _I’m turning into a romantic sod._

Thirty minutes later and he still didn’t have something that rhymed. He thought about looking up poems to write online but that was cheating. He felt a deep fondness and passion for her, he liked a lot of things about her, and he could easily express those things into words.

But it was hard. He was good with words but he just didn’t know what to say… he gave up and sent a quick message to Sam, detailing the address of Clara’s work and what the card should say.

\-----

_Now that I sent you the address, this is what the card should say:_

_“Even though it may seem as if I’ve forgotten you,_

_I can tell you I have not_

_Come by my place at 7 o’clock_

_To talk about us_

_-M xx”_

_This is EXTREMELY CONFIDENTIAL, Sam, and don’t tell me how shitty my rhyme is because believe me, I fucking know. I am the Director of Communications not a fucking poet._

_-M._

\-----

_Got it. Already made the order. It should be there in about thirty minutes or so, they said. Don’t worry, the rhyme is alright, I suppose. It screams some kind of subtle romance. Is there such thing? Anyways, the thing is done. Anything else I can help you with?_

_-S xx_

\-----

_No, that’s all, thank you. I should give you a raise. (Maybe.)_

_-M._

\-----

_Oh, that’d be great!_

_-S_

\-----

He chuckled and shook his head. Now all he had to do was wait…

Time.

It was one of those things that went away and never came back. Maybe that was the reason why he was always moving around, being useful. He would hate it if he actually just laid down and wasted his time. He had done it a couple of times –they could be counted in one hand even. But he always ended up feeling guilty. _I’m wasting my time, I’m wasting my time_ , he would think over and over again.

His brain was like a machine, it was always working and unfortunately, it didn’t have an off switch. He had to always be thinking, even if he was thinking about fickle subjects like philosophy.

He would cook her pasta tonight; he didn’t know which was best. The red sauce or the white sauce? As he pondered this question, he opened his cupboard and saw a bottle of white wine. That kind of wine always went best with red sauce. With a nod of satisfaction, he took a notepad from his bedroom.

_Item 1: White wine. Check._

Now he had to go shopping for the rest of his items. He would buy strawberries and dip them in chocolate as well and accompany them with the ice cream he had bought the weekend before because it just sat there, untouched.

He would make her a fresh tomato, sausage and Pecorino pasta, which was a recipe he had just fished online. He just hoped he could cook it just right. He was a good cook, he could cook about anything with a recipe at hand but he was scared he would mess it up and would have to order take-out instead. _That will not happen because I am a disciplined man_ , he thought.

Getting his coat and keys, he went out in search for the ingredients he needed. Everything had to be absolutely perfect.

* * *

 

While Clara was working, a guy in his early twenties approached her, holding a vase of the most beautiful roses she had seen. Someone had helped him with the door, he thanked them and went for the counter, towards Clara.

“Uh, hey. This vase here is for a Clara Oswald, is she around?” he asked as he settled the vase carefully in front of her and took the clipboard from under his arm to check he had gotten the name right.

“Um, yes, I am.” She said. “Who are they from?” She looked at the roses and then raised an eyebrow at the guy.

“There’s a card here.” He fished it from the front of the vase and gave it to her. The card was being held up by a plastic stick. “So, I need you to sign this here to confirm the delivery, Miss Oswald.”

She put the card down and signed the guy’s paper.

“That will be all.” He said and nodded towards the flowers. “Enjoy.” Then left.

She just stood there, glaring at the roses. She had a suspicion from whom they were from, but she didn’t dare to hope on that. He hadn’t talked to her in four days. _Four days!_ And just last night she had received a voice message from him saying that he had not forgotten her. It was heartfelt and she believed him.

She wanted to play it off, she really did. _I’m the Cool Girl; I’m alright with those kind of things. I shouldn’t be bothered by that._

But she was.

Men liked girls who didn’t nagged them, did whatever they wanted without a complain, eat whatever they ate and still somehow be a size two or five, and like the same shit they liked. She was that girl, but she couldn’t keep being that girl for much longer to keep a man by her side. That same thing happened with Daniel when she realized he wouldn’t settle down, and he had complained about her not being fun anymore. And fun translated to letting him do whatever he wanted.

She wouldn’t be that girl anymore and that was why she was slightly upset about Malcolm’s lack of calls. It surely made her think about what she had done _. Did I say something wrong? Did I upset him somehow?_ But the clusterfuck about the PM let her know that perhaps he wasn’t mad at her but he was busy with work. She could understand that, but even a text would’ve been appreciated.

The roses were an apology and invitation. The kind of signs a man gives when he knows his girlfriend might be pissed at him. It was a means to get in Clara’s good side, and by God, did she hated him right now, because that was exactly what those roses and that stupid note did. They got Malcolm in her good side. For a bit, at least.

She moved them to the break-room and put his note on her bag then went to the front. Amy raised an eyebrow as to inquire about the roses but Clara shook her head.

“I’ll explain later.”

Amy gave her a smile and went back to work.

She sighed and kept serving the clients, serving coffee, being a cashier, all the while thinking that their lack of communication was her fault as well. The fault was split between the two of them. She could have texted him a simple morning message but she didn’t. Simply because she didn’t want to appear clingy and needy. She hated to feel like that.

If she felt clingy and needy and expressed it, there was trouble. She knew by experience that when you expressed these traits, men tended to run and when you didn’t, you just created the situation she was currently in. It was a lose-lose situation. There was no winning side to it.

* * *

 

He checked his list once again as he got to his flat to check that he had everything he needed.

_Item 2: Penne pasta. Check._

_Item 3: Sweet Italian sausages. Check._

_Item 4: Olive oil. Check._

_Item 5: A lonely onion. Check._

_Item 6: Minced garlic. Check._

_Item 7: Tomatoes. Check._

_Item 8:Precorino Romano Cheese. Check._

_Item 9: Black pepper. Check._

_Item 10: Basil Leaves. Check._

_Item 11: Strawberries. Check._

_Item 12: Chocolate (Nutella). Check._

He smirked, satisfied. _There’s no happiness without order_ , he thought. It was a Nazi quote but out of context, it was damn good to use.

He had about three hours where he didn’t have to do anything important, regarding the food’s preparation at least. He put everything that was meant to go on the fridge inside it and set up to clean his flat.

There wasn’t much to clean but he did always liked the smell of a clean place instead of the smell inhabitable places often had.

Right now, he really did long for a bigger house. It appeared to him that they would have to eat side by side, on the kitchen island because there really wasn’t anything else. He huffed in exasperation. _This does not look good!_ Okay, he may have some problems with being a perfectionist little twat, he couldn’t help it. That particular trait bled into his work too and he often lost his head when just a single thing went wrong.

In his mind, he pictured the dinner with Clara in a different setting, but not in his flat. He tried to calm down and convince himself it would be okay, that she wouldn’t mind because she didn’t have the idea of another place in mind; that she was thinking about his place.

He opened the fridge and got a can of Fanta, drank it, and went to take a nap, or rather, make himself take a nap. After fifteen minutes of tossing and turning –in which he had stopped to put an alarm for 6:20 pm in case he was still asleep by then-, he found a comfortable spot. Curling towards where Clara had slept and clutched the pillow she had slept in to his face.

* * *

 

He woke up at six, he put the pasta to boil as he prepared the sauce as the recipe said and made the sausages in another pan, then he let the sauce to cool for a bit as he set the table. He thought about adding candles but he didn’t have any and he wasn’t going to get any. He was already out of his comfort zone; he didn’t need the candles to set some kind of mood on their dinner.

He truly didn’t know what he would say to her once he had her in his place. Saying sorry for not dedicating her any time was definitely on his list, among other things. He really hoped she would not come in her bike. It was raining right now, and it would possibly be like that for a while, and he hated to think of her having an accident because he had invited her to come to his place.

Now the funny part –which wasn’t funny at all-, was the question of the century. Would she come? She hadn’t texted him in the affirmative, he was just working on assumptions. _She is a decent human being, a good one_ , he told himself. _She would’ve have texted me a big fucking ‘no’ if she wasn’t going to come._

Before going to shower, he turned off the correspondent burners of the stove, but left on the one with the pasta.

He scrubbed every place of his body, cleaned his nails of any kind of dirt he might have on them and shaved. Facial hair annoyed him quite a bit, that’s why he shaved as often as he could, not even letting it grow to be classified as stubble.

He dressed in black trousers, his Dr. Martens shinny black shoes and an old t-shirt for the time being as he finished cooking.

The pasta was finished and so, he added the sauce then set up to slice the sausage and mixed them. He put the lid on the pot and frowned, thinking. Something was missing, he could tell. He opened his fridge and peered inside, he could make some salad and it would look alright.

He set up to the task of making the salad and when he was done, he glanced at his watch, only to see that it was just ten minutes to seven. He left everything how it was, cleaned any stains there might be and washed his hands.

Once in his room, he put on a red dress shirt and undid the top three buttons, he was aiming for a semi-casual look. He sat on the bed, waiting for the call the guard from the security gate would make, and drummed his fingers on his thigh. When he was nervous or anxious at work, he didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he set up to shooting abuse, throwing irritated glances around, or simply chewing the inside of his cheek as he crossed his arms over his chest. However, in private, it was quite different.

As he thought she would not come, the guard called and he told him to let her in and waited by the door. He seemed eager but he didn’t care, at all. She knocked once and he opened the door. He wasn’t sure if he should smile, kiss her, hug her… _What should I do!?_

“Hello, Malcolm.” She greeted him in a neutral tone and he fought the urge to snap at her.

_I cooked for you, sent you roses and you’re using that tone on me!?_

“Hello, Clara. Do come in.” He stepped aside to let her in and as he closed the door with his left hand, he looked at Clara’s back.

She was wearing a coat and stilettos. When she turned around to face him, he gulped. “Do you need me to… put your coat on a hook?”

“Please.” Clara shrugged it off and gave it to him.

Suddenly he remembered. That was the dress she had sent him in a picture; the dress that showed her back. He turned to hang her coat on a hook besides the door and turned to her again. She looked beautiful, if she was going to rage at him she wouldn’t have made the effort to look like that, would she?

“I figured out the roses and the note were some sort of apology.” She said.

He nodded and directed her towards the living room. She sat, and he sat besides her, leaving one cushion dividing them.

“They were meant as apologies. What happened is just a… taste of what will happen.” He said. “I’m a busy person and sometimes I have to disappear.”

“You could have called, just ten seconds… that would’ve been enough.”

He scratched his cheek with his index finger and shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, thing is I have to keep my mind on one issue. Things like that need my full attention. I spare ten seconds to my life, and it infiltrates on what I’m doing.”

“So you close up to anything personal.”

“Yes, I mean, no.” he said but at her look of incredulity, he amended it. “Well, yes. It fucking has to be that way. My work life and love life should be separated and that’s what I’m doing… or trying to do. I’m not succeeding, am I?”

She was sitting straight, her hair brushing her shoulders and shaping her face. Her red lipstick drawing attention to them and her legs crossed at the knee. She leaned forwards, took his hand in hers, and squeezed it.

“You’re doing a shit job at it, Malc.”

He grunted and chewed the inside of his cheek, making his jaw line more noticeable, and thus, making Clara want to kiss his jaw _so_ bad.

“I did mind a little, you know.”

“I believe you felt abandoned, but I wouldn’t really do that. I just… I get immersed in it, my job, and everything else just…” he shook his head and sighed. “I should do something about it, but not now.” After a few minutes of silence, he stood and offered her a hand to help her up, which she accepted. “I made us dinner. Pasta, hope you like it.”

“I didn’t know you cooked elaborate things like that, it’s surprising.”

They were still holding hands, standing close to each other. As they were now, Clara was a bit taller with her stilettos but Malcolm still had to look down at her.

“I can surprise you some more, once you taste it you’ll never want to eat anywhere else.”

She smiled and ducked away from him, towards the kitchen island and as he followed her, he noticed that what he had just said had a double entendre. He didn’t mind, really, because either way, it was true.

He helped her sit on the high chair, and commented as he got the plates. “I love that dress by the way. It has me fucking crazy, was that your goal?”

He served her the pasta and put it in front of her. “Maybe…”

He chuckled and served himself, put his plate on the table and retrieved the salad, then two glasses and the wine.

“Well, if it was or wasn’t, either way, that’s what it’s doing to me. You drink wine, yeah?” At her nod, he served her first and then himself.

“So you invited me here to apologize, hmm?”

“And woo you some more. Eat.” He pointed at her plate and they started eating.

She turned to him and slapped his thigh. “Malcolm this tastes incredible, what the hell!? Someone must have helped you cook.”

He was a bit offended at her suggestion and it showed on his face. “Excuse you, sweetheart, but no. I did it by myself. I just followed instructions from the internet.”

“Alright, Mr. Gadget.” She teased.

“Not even close. So…” he took another bite from his pasta as he loaded his plate with salad. “How were your days?”

“Eh, normal. Jack just told me he was looking for a flat but all of them, according to him, are too expensive. He wants a roommate and since he fucks everything that has a heartbeat-” At his raised eyebrows and shocked expression, she corrected herself. “Sorry, anything _human_ that has a heartbeat. Well, I advised him to not look for a roommate.”

“Sounds like the sensible thing to do.” He commented. An idea resurfaced on his mind and he stopped eating, then turned towards her. “Marco needs a roommate.”

“No, Malcolm, no. Marco’s a sweet guy, I  wouldn’t leave him alone every day and night with Jack, no.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, leaning towards her. “Clara… Marco knows how to look after himself, and he has my protection. Besides, your brother doesn’t look threatening at all.”

“That’s not what I was talking about.” She murmured and faced him. “He’s a charmer. He’ll charm Marco to bed, no strings attached and then Marco will end up hurt.”

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

He turned once again for his food and turned his head towards her. “I could always ask Marco. I’m not even sure he’s gay. I mean, he may seem like it but I’m not sure. Look at fucking Ollie Reeder. Dude looks gay as hell, but he’s straight… and Glenn looks like an old retired gay man, but that’s just what I think.”

She frowned. “I don’t know whose Ollie… or Glenn.”

“Be thankful that you don’t. Pair of twats.” He sneered. “But you may have seen him. You know the Nicola fuck up? Well, he appeared in the first seconds helping Nicola upstage and holding her bag and then later on, he moved her to be in fucking position so the poster said ‘I am bent’.”

“Oh! I know who it is now. He’s very skinny. The human embodiment of a noodle.”

He let out a chuckle. “Not bad, actually. I always thought it was the arms.”

A while later, they were sitting side by side on the sofa, eating the strawberries with Nutella and each of them had a cup full of ice-cream.

“You know that strawberries and chocolate are an aphrodisiac, right?” she dipped a strawberry in the jar of Nutella and looked up at him.

He finished licking some bits of Nutella from his thumb, looked at her, and said innocently. “Really? I had no fucking idea.”

 It was a lie, of course. He knew, on a subconscious level at least, that they were an aphrodisiac. He also knew that they supposedly did something to your libido… but he hadn’t bought them because of that. He bought them because he liked to eat them occasionally and Clara looked like the kind of woman who liked strawberries.

She gave her a look. “I’m not buying it.”

He gave a quick downward glance, scratched the corner of his mouth with a casual thumb, and then inhaled a chuckle, his eyes sparkling because of the wine. It was such a boyish thing of him to do. _Men never stop being boys, they just grow older in appearance and hotter,_ she thought.

“Good call because it’s a lie. I guess I knew it on a subconscious level. I do not intend to woo you into bed yet. You just look like the kind of woman who likes to eat strawberries with chocolate.”

She dipped another strawberry in the jar and offered it to him. Instead of taking it from her hand, he lowered his head and took a bite.

“Well, uh…” she blushed prettily and bit her lip.

He swallowed it. “Thank you.” As he saw she was still blushing, he chuckled and dipped another strawberry. “Your turn.”

“Oh, Malcolm, you don’t have to.” She protested.

“I insist. It’s only fair, yeah?”

She glared at him but her glare didn’t have any venom in it. She inched forward, mindful of the fact that he was looking at her with such heat in his eyes that made her feel hot everywhere, and closed her mouth around the strawberry while looking at him.

He gulped and licked his lips and then she retreated back and cleaned a bit of chocolate with her thumb, then licked it off.

“It tasted better from your hand.”

He smirked at her and started eating his ice-cream. “I’m tired of the chocolate anyways.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. More for me then.”

She placed the Nutella jar on her lap and kept eating the remaining strawberries.

“Although I wonder something…” he trailed-off.

“What that is?”

“How would your kisses taste now… we should fucking make out to check that out.”

“For science?”

“For science.”

She nodded and he sat closer to her. Malcolm slowly inched forward, and caressed her neck  with the back of his fingers. Then once again, traced her cheekbone with his thumb, until he grasped the side of her head in a gentle grip.

“You’re really beautiful, I’m sure you know that.” He whispered against her lips as he looked at her in the eyes.

“I’ve been told that a lot.”

“Good.” He nuzzled his nose against hers and she chuckled. “And not just that. You have a beautiful mind too. I haven’t gotten to explore it as I want to, but I hope that I will soon.”

He gave her a chaste kiss. Her lips tasted like strawberry juice. “Not everything will be as perfect as this, Clara. I hope you know that… I know I’ve mentioned it many times-”

“Oh for fucks sake.” Clara crashed  her lips against his and smiled in satisfaction when he clutched her closer to him and began kissing her slowly.

The kisses she always had with men were always hurried, still sexy, but hurried. Malcolm’s were slow, gentle, all-consuming, just like he was with her.

She opened her mouth to him and he slowly explored what he could reach with his tongue. He was also massaging her scalp with his hand, making her feel relaxed and weightless. He wasn’t touching her anywhere near her chest or legs. He had his other hand –the one not massaging her scalp- resting along the back of the sofa as he was turned totally towards her, his knee brushing her thigh.

As they kissed, she inched her hand towards his chest, which was hot to the touch and he shivered. He took that as an okay sign and moved the hand that was massaging her scalp to her back. He didn’t have much reach so he moved her legs to his thigh so she’d get the message: _move closer_. She did and now he could reach her back better.

Her back was smooth to the touch, just like the rest of her. The sweeping up and down motion he was doing with his hand on her back and the kiss made her moan against his lips and he broke the kiss with two gentle pecks, just like he always did.

He was always the first to open his eyes, and he always got the chance of seeing her all dreamy and disoriented as she opened hers. He hugged her to himself and kissed the top of her head.

“It turns out that all those things tasted fucking great together.”

She laughed and hugged him tighter. “If it were for science you would have written it down.”

“I wrote it down in my mind.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m being honest… but we’ve got to make fucking sure, don’t we? I say we should try it again and then I’ll get my journal and write it down, yeah?” he said as he looked down at the top of her head.

“I think that’s best.”

She looked at him and with a wicked smile, kissed him again, this time it was she who took charge of the kiss and he gladly let her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments, dears!!

“Okay, let me think.” He said as he did the dishes. “You want to watch a movie tonight?” he looked sideways at Clara.

She was standing besides him, leaning on the counter while he did the dishes. She had asked him if he could guess what she wanted to do right now and so far, he hadn’t been successful. His mind apparently was still clouded with the heated kisses they had shared earlier on his sofa.

He turned off the tap and dried his hands on one of the kitchen towels and regarded her. He still thought that the dress she was wearing was a bit too much. The fact that she had worn it specifically for him made him mad with delight.

“Nope.” She smirked at him.

With a shrug, he left for the sofa and said over his shoulder. “I don’t know. I can’t fucking read minds, darling. Unless you tell me, we’re going to keep going in circles.”

He sat on the arm rest and watched her walking towards him, her hips swaying with her steps. He had taken her stilettos off when they were making out, so she was now walking barefoot in his house while he still had his shoes on. He had deeply enjoyed their kisses, their shared caresses and how she laughed when his breath tickled her neck. She was basically pudding in his hands.

“I was thinking on going for a walk, actually.” She now stood in front of him, playing with the cuffs of his shirt. She unbuttoned them and started rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

“What are you doing that for?”

He didn’t want to go out for a walk, not at all. He was already famished and walking did not appease to him at all. Not now, anyways. Besides, it had rained earlier; it could rain again, that was life in London.

“Looks nicer, trust me.”

“I’m trying to but it’s hard to do so when you’re suggesting we go outside and possibly catch a cold. Besides, in is better than out.”

She pouted and he gathered her in his arms. “Come on, today we stay in; next time we go out, yeah?”

She beamed at him. “Awesome! That’s just what I was aiming for.”

He released her and cocked his head at her, with a frown in place. “Excuse me?” He inhaled a chuckle. He was surprised. He had played right into her game and gave her what she wanted: a date outside. “Have I fucking been outmaneuvered?”

“Looks like it.” She traced his lips with the tip of her index fingers. “How does it feel like?”

“Being outmaneuvered or you tracing my lips?” she shrugged in answer to his question. “Hmm… being outmaneuvered feels… awkward. Now, you tracing my lips? Or what’s left of them anyways… that feels awkward as well. But it’s a welcome sensation nonetheless.”

“And this?” she asked as she passed her hands through his short hair. “I’ve got to say, I really liked it when your hair was longer. Why did you cut it?”

He groaned. “First question, it feels superb. If you could scratch my scalp, that would be great.”

Clara started scratching his scalp and he leaned towards her. “Oh, I like that.” He murmured. “And second, because it was a lot of work. There was a blow dryer involved. Now it’s quicker and I just have to wait for it dry and that’s it.”

She stood back, with a smile in place. “A blow dryer? Are you for real?” she laughed when he scowled and she tried to sooth his frown with a light kiss on his lips. “That’s great, really. Let it get long again, please?”

“Not a chance, sorry.” He stood and sat on the sofa. “Now. I want to talk. There’s something troubling me.”

“And what is that?” she asked warily as she sat besides him.

“I’ve had… an awakening of sorts.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve realized that for me to live longer I would have to leave my job.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Malcolm.”

Now came the hard part. He had to come clean to her and now was as good a moment as any. He took a huge gulp of air and bit his lip.

“On December, when I went to the doctor, he said I had to take my health more seriously. Well, I had a bit of a prehypertension, yeah? I don’t know, as he said it, he told me that it could grow to become a hypertension stage 1.” He looked sideways at her and she nodded at him to continue. “Right, yeah, he told me to eat healthy food, which is hard because I can barely eat… that I had to exercise, check my levels of stress and stop smoking.”

“So…” she bit her lip and looked down at her hands. “You’re fucked, basically.”

He chuckled. “Correct.” He grasped her hand in his bigger one, effectively drawing her gaze to him. “I thought you had to know, just in case… you know.” He made a slicing motion at his throat with his finger, causing her to chuckle.

“Well, it seems to me that you have to eat healthier, exercise and stop smoking, Malcolm.” She sighed. “Really, it’s like… the only way to have that under control.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve done my research. Did you know that Hitler had one bullock? I didn’t know.”

“Malcolm…” she had to come to realize that when he didn’t want to talk about something, he simply evaded the subject entirely with other tidbits of information. “I didn’t know either but I would appreciate it if you told me what are you going to do about that.”

He scratched the back of his head and looked warily at her. He was unsure of how to proceed. He had briefly thought about what he had to do about that but he hadn’t come to any plans.

“I’m trying to quit smoking. I’m down to two cigarettes a day.”

She nodded. “Right, what about the eating and exercise?”

“Clara, I can’t just exercise, I can’t. I’d either have to wake up early to put a little effort in jogging or whatever, or do it later when I’m out of work. Sometimes I’m not home until 1:00am, then what?”

“I used to exercise in the mornings. At 5am. Say, I think _we_ should exercise together.” She smiled at him.

It was a great idea; he had to give her some merit but being out with her… in the open. He chewed the inside on his cheek and thought about the implications of that. It was too early for anyone of the press to be around, right? He had to pray that would be the case.

“I would agree with you, right; but the problem here is the press. They are fucking everywhere. I don’t want to expose you.”

“Malcolm, I don’t care. We don’t even have to go together, just… you know, run a few blocks, well pass each other and… I don’t know!” She threw her hands in the air. “Wave at each other and keep going.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it, yeah? I don’t know if I can be up by that hour. Without the sleeping pill, sure. But with it, I get up at 6:30.”

“Well, anyways, we can deal with that later. What about the food? What do you eat normally?”

“Eh.” He made a vague gesture at her and refused to comment.

“I asked you a question, Malcolm.”

It was funny how she, a 5’ 2’’ dwarf of a girl could talk to him like that and have him almost wanting to tell her and answer the damn questions.

“How do you do that? How the fuck do you get away with talking to me like that?” he questioned.

“Because you like me.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Now, answers, please.”

“I have breakfast here, just like the one I made you the other day. Then coffee, redbull… sometimes a bagel…”

The more Malcolm said, the more she frowned. It was no surprise the guy was so skinny! Though he still had some meat in his bones, she knew that if he kept at it, that meat wouldn’t be there for long. She truly hated how he treated his health as if it was something that could be fixed later, which it wasn’t.

“I can’t believe you.” She chewed on her nails. “Malcolm, take your health seriously.”

“Will try.”

“Your lunch hour is?”

“Eleven-ish. Depends how things go in the fucking department. If there aren’t any problems or any other shit. Why?” he arched an eyebrow at her.

“Have lunch with me. At my place, whenever you can. Just text me and I’ll get us something.” She suggested gently.

He shook his head in the negative. “Sometimes there are changes at the last moment. Can’t leave you waiting.”

“I don’t mind.”

“But I do. Jesus, woman, I don’t like to make changes at the last minute.” He huffed.

“Okay, I would mind but it’s not like it was your fault… anyways, change of subject, have you gone to the movies lately?”

“Oh, shit.” He chuckled. “I haven’t gone to the movies since I saw ‘The Shawshank Redemption’.”

“When was that?”

“The 90’s, I guess.” He said embarrassed. Even though he was fairly in touch with the new movies, he only bought them in DVD and watched them at home. It was better in his opinion because he could pause them whenever he wanted, either to take a piss or to make himself some food to go along with them if he was feeling too hungry.

“Okay, we have to go to the movies also. I went on Saturday with Amy. The movie was… well, Amy liked it because a favourite actor of hers was in it.” She huddled closer to him as he took the remote control from the table and twiddle it on his hand.

He put his free arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side as he focused his gaze on the remote control he was playing with. All they had done was talk and make-out –which was fine by him- but Clara was always making all of the talking. It was her who had the conversation flowing between them. He really wanted to make an effort to know more of her, get to know her, but sadly, he didn’t know how.

He cleared his throat to draw her attention back to him. She didn’t raise her head from his shoulder; instead, she angled it towards him. He didn’t meet her eyes, but he saw her out of the corner of his eyes.

“Are you a fan of Dickens?”

“Well, I kind of have to be. Though I liked ‘Great Expectations’ quite a bit.”

He nodded and caressed her shoulder. “Did you know he was a psychopath? On a psychopath scale, he was more of a nutter than Hitler, and Hitler was fucking nuts. But good ol’ Charles never acted on it. He got to be a writer instead.”

“No way! Where did you learn that?”

“The internet. I’m not really sure if it’s fucking true, just Google it sometime and you can tell me if it’s true or not.” He moved his head towards her and he could see and feel how her breath hitched when their faces got so close.

“Why don’t you do that, hmm?” she whispered.

“I’m a busy man, love.” He kissed the tip of her nose and gave her the control remote. “Just in case you want to watch something… and hey, you can tell me what some of your hobbies are. I’m not really sure how to do this ‘get to know each other’ thing. I’m making it up as I go along, you know. Fucking pathetic.”

That last bit was directed at himself, she knew and she didn’t like that he thought of himself that way. Such self-deprecating thoughts were not good for someone to have.

“You’re not pathetic. You just didn’t focus on flirting or such things; you just focused on work and its okay. It would be impossible to get to know each other in a short period of time. You sometimes get to know people by watching them and what they do…” she kissed his cheek and rested her head once again on his shoulder. “But since you ask, some of my hobbies consist of reading, watching TV or movies and going out, occasionally. Oh, and shopping. I like that as well. Yours?”

He smiled, he couldn’t stop himself. Clara was so forgiving and understanding… she really deserved better but as of now, she had chosen him, and who was he to argue? He’d be a dumb fuck if he was going to argue that.

“TV and movies. Give people some bollockings too… I have books, but I almost never finish them.” He shrugged. “What can I say? My mind tends to fucking wonder.”

“Oh, that brain of yours. Never stops working, does it?”

She didn’t wait for an answer and stood, leaving him feeling cold and bereft for a moment.

“I’ve got an idea. Where’s your IPod?” she looked around as if expecting to find it nearby, but it wasn’t anywhere near.

“I’ll go looking for it, right?” he put his hands on her shoulder and gently stirred her once again towards the sofa. She sat down.

He walked quickly to his bedroom and scratched the back of his head. He noticed he was sweating. Clara made him sweat, he realized. He knew he was mildly nervous to be around her but this was ridiculous. There was no reason to be sweating, Clara wasn’t going to eat him and so far, it looked as if she had no plans of doing so today, which was a bit of a relief for him. Not that he didn’t want her attentions; he simply wasn’t ready to take that step. Clara wasn’t like the other women he had slept with, he didn’t only felt the beginning of lust setting his claws into his mind, he also felt the need to want to get to know her when she sat with him to eat when they first met.

Lately both of those things were growing and getting stronger. So far, he had let only just one of those things get a hold of him.

The need to know her.

He couldn’t make sense of that need. Clara seemed like a simple, good woman and no hidden agendas to fuck him up; she just seemed to want his attention and spend time with him, that was enough for her, as far as he could tell.

He came back with the IPod in hand. “What do you want to do with it?” he asked as he stood in front of her, a confused expression on his face.

She took it from him as she stood. “Dance.” She walked towards his radio and without his help, plugged it in. She turned it on and was surprised that there was no code. At her inquiring, curious gaze, he shrugged one shoulder.

“I’m the only one who uses it. It seems like a fucking waste of time to even put one.” His hands were now inside the pockets of his trousers, his head cocked to the side, with an eyebrow arched as he watched her.

“Fair enough.” She put her weight on her right leg and chewed her lip as she studied his playlist. It mostly consisted of artists she had briefly heard but the amount of songs by David Bowie was slightly overwhelming. “You really like your Bowie, don’t you?”

He nodded and looked at his feet, clearly embarrassed. Somehow, he didn’t look ashamed, just slightly embarrassed to accept it, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I tried to imitate his voice for a long time when I was a younger. I nearly succeeded.”

 “Oh, I’d love to hear you!”

“Later.”

She looked back down at his IPod and saw other bands she didn’t recognized. “Redbone, you like them?”

He shrugged. “They’re not bad.”

She chuckled. “I only know one song, let me see if you have it.” She scrolled down and beamed at him. “Here it is!”

‘Come and Get Your Love’ started playing and he groaned, raising his hands to hide his face behind them. Clara started singing and dancing towards him, while she laughed. She lowered his hands and tried to make him dance but he wouldn’t bulge.

“Don’t you dance?”

He shook his head in the negative. “The only ones I dance are slow.”

“No matter, you’ll dance this one with me, like it or not.”

She moved him around and twirled him and he did the same in return, simply because she refused to let him just sit and watch her dance. When the song ended, he had a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and swept it away with the back of his hand.

“I think that is enough for the night.” He took large gulps of air, as did Clara.

“No, no, chose one of your slow ones. I want to dance with you.” She insisted while she played with the buttons of his shirt.

“Well, okay.” He walked towards his radio and took his IPod, only to find that his hand was shaking slightly. He dismissed it and went in search of David Bowie. Before he pressed play, he steeled himself to dance, or at least sway around with her. Then he played one of his favourites. He released the breath he had been holding and turned towards her. ‘Moonage Daydream’ filled the air and he approached as he had learned so long ago. A slight bow and his right hand outstretched in front of him, ready for her to take.

She did and he hauled her close to him, she yelped but laughed anyways. “That wasn’t as smooth as I thought it was going to be.” She commented.

“It’s nothing like ‘Grease’, believe me.” He put one of his hands on her waist, and held her other one upright, just as she rested her free hand on his shoulder.

They swayed, left and right and Clara couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot, her head tucked under his. His heart was beating wildly, she could hear it. She clutched his hand tight in hers and he traced her index finger with his thumb. His hand then moved to her low back and stayed there as they danced the whole song.

He didn’t know why he felt as nervous as he did now. With Clementine, he never felt any nervousness, he just wanted to get the dance moves just right and he was exclusively mindful on not stepping on her feet. She always liked to dance such difficult dances and he often stepped on her feet. No matter how much he apologized, she still was mad at him.

But Clara –bless her-, just chuckled when he stepped on them. He had apologized twice. And he stepped on them again.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, again. I just don’t dance that much.”

She released her grasp on his hand. Bringing her hands up to cup his face, she raised herself on tip toes and kissed him when he lowered his head.

“Stop apologizing.”

He gave her a smile, without showing his teeth and circled her waist with his arms.

“Yes, boss.”

The music came to a halt, not because it was finished, but because his IPod had its battery drained.

“Ah, shit.” He said regretfully as he looked into her eyes. “Guess I didn’t charge it last time.”

“It’s alright; I had a good time dancing with you.”

She blushed as she admitted this and he found the colour of her rosy cheeks very endearing. He couldn’t resist and kissed both of her cheeks. He wasn’t an incredibly affectionate man in public, not even in private, he thought. But with Clara, he wanted to be affectionate towards her mainly because he knew she needed the attention and he wanted the contact as well.

“What are you thinking?” she asked as she played with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“I’m thinking about you.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” He admitted.

“Care to share?”

“Hmm.” He looked up at the ceiling and then down at her. “I can share it, yes. I was thinking about how fucking lovely you look when you blush.”

Her blush had receded but when he said that, it came back in full force.

“Ah, there it is.” He chuckled and caressed the small of her back. “It’s a really lovely shade of red.”

Clara’s phone started vibrating and she looked towards it. She had left it on the kitchen island.

“You should get that.”

“Nope. If it’s important they’ll call again or send a message.”

It vibrated again and he released her, reluctantly.

“Go and get it, I’m not going anywhere.” He pushed her gently towards it.

She picked it up and walked towards him. “It’s Jack. He’s asking if I’m coming home now or later.”

“In other words-” he crossed his arms over his chest. “‘- Bring my fucking sister back, Tucker.’ Aye?”

She laughed and smacked him on his chest. “Probably.” She toyed with her phone a little and looked at him underneath her eyelashes.

“Can you please take me now? It’s getting late, almost ten.”

He grunted. “Sure, darling. Put on your shoes.”

He rolled down his sleeves as he walked to his bedroom t get his black coat. As he returned, she was already walking towards her coat. He rushed towards it and helped her put it on. She thanked him and he opened the door. The night was dark and slightly cold, but nothing they couldn’t deal with.

On the ride back to her place, he had both his hands on the steering wheel, his grip tight on it while Clara fidgeted.

“You alright?” he glanced briefly at her and focused on the road.

“Yes, just thinking, you know.”

“May I inquire as to what you’re thinking?”

“The future. The future has always been a scary thing.”

“The future has stopped being a promise, now it’s like… what will the future hold for you; for me? Do you believe the future is written in stone? Frankly, I believe that’s a load of fucking shit.”

She smiled reluctantly, glad that he had made her smile when her thoughts had drifted to unpleasant waters. “Hmm, it’s hard to say.”

“It fucking isn’t.” he smirked at her and loosened his hold on the steering wheel. “The way I see it, your choices are what shape your future. Only _you_ are in control of it. Sure, other people play a role in it, but they’ll only affect your future as much as you fucking allow them.”

“So I have to be wise with whom I allow to shape my future.” She said.

“That’s right. And be careful on choosing the… well, the right choices. Although they’re not always the right choices.” He muttered and kept looking at the road.

“Do you speak from experience?”

“Mhm. Always think how your choices will affect you long term and take into account everything that could go wrong. Make a fucking plan for each of them so you don’t end up as fucked as you would’ve ended up initially.”

She grimaced. “Sounds exhausting.”

“And it is.” He smiled at her and reached over to squeeze her knee, he left his hand there. “That’s my job every day.”

“I don’t envy you, truly. You must get some killer headaches, right?” she put her hand on top of his as he started caressing her knee with his thumb.

“Yes, nothing a few pills during the day can’t fix. Coffee also helps.”

“But do you get them frequently?”

“Nah, just when I’ve been working non-stop and I’m stressed. It’s not nearly as often as it may look like.” He said to try and ease her worries. She was a worrier, that much he could tell.

“Really?” she looked at him, unbelievingly.

“Yeah, don’t worry your pretty little head about that.” He dismissed her concern with a careless wave of his hand.

It touched him that she was concerned about it but he wasn’t used to dealing with people who cared about him in a very explicit way. Jamie he could stand and his parents as well because they took care of him in their own way –and in a way where he wouldn’t have to be present-, but Clara’s concern was explicit and direct. He was uncomfortable with it but it seemed that he had to get used to it. However, that would take time.

 A lot of time.

* * *

 

Once he parked his car outside his place, it started raining. He could see nothing besides the light shining through a window in Clara’s flat, the rest was pitch black.

He sighed and stretched as much as the space he was in allowed. “Well, I did bring you home.”

“You did, now we have to wait for the rain to stop.” She took off her shoes and turned towards him.

“If you were Scottish, you would just get out of the car and fucking run towards your flat. It’s how we do things in Scotland.” He said with a hint of humour in his voice.

“Good thing I’m not Scottish, then! I really don’t want to wet my hair. It takes forever to dry.”

He shrugged his coat off and grinned devilishly at her as he switched off the engine and pocketed his keys. “Take off your seatbelt.”

“Why?” she eyed him.

“For once, do as you’re told.”

She took off her seatbelt and as she opened her mouth to say something, he opened the door of the car, got out and closed it. She saw him running with the coat raised above him to protect him from the rain and he stopped in front of the passenger’s door. She didn’t hesitate a bit longer. She opened it and huddled close to him, then closed the door.

“The water’s fucking cold.” He complained as he hurried towards the door to the main floor of her flat. She fumbled with the keys a bit as she tried to open it. The poor lighting wasn’t helping her at all.

“I told you to wait!” she whispered furiously at him, afraid that she might wake up the old lady that lived downstairs.

“You did.” He smirked down at her as she opened the door. “Clearly I didn’t listen.”

He followed her inside and was dismayed to find that his coat was completely soaked. This shouldn’t have come as a shock to him, but it did nonetheless. He huffed in annoyance.

“I didn’t think this through.” He said as he fought the coldness that threatened to seep into his bones. His trousers were soaked and so was the back of his shirt. Clara had stood in front of him as he served like some sort of human umbrella to ensure that she wouldn’t get wet.

She chuckled and pointed at him. “Look at you, all soaked! Of course you didn’t, idiot.”

He scowled at her and she walked over to him, stood on her tip-toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “But you’re an adorable idiot, no offense.”

He grunted. “None taken.”

She patted his cheek and took a step back as she took hold of his hand. “Why don’t you come up for a cuppa?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. Your brother is up there. I don’t fancy being fucking questioned tonight.” Even though he said this, he hung his coat on a perch that was besides the stairs.

“Pretty please?” she made a good impression of the cat from ‘Shrek’ at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Will you tell him to piss off then?”

“I can try.” She tugged him up the stairs and he followed. “Although he never listens. He does as he pleases.”

It turned out that Jack really did as he pleased. Clara had politely asked him if he could fuck off to her room while Malcolm was there and he did just that. Malcolm had breathed a sigh of relief at that and Clara had brought him a towel so he could dry himself a little bit as he sat on her sofa. He could see her working at the kitchen but then, Jack walked into his line of view and sat in front of him.

“Excuse me, I was admiring the view.” A bit of snark shone through his comment as he looked at Jack.

Jack snorted. “Excuse you, I _am_ the view.”

He moved to the right and saw Clara making tea, still not finished. He turned his gaze towards Jack once again. When he didn’t know who Jack was, he had greeted him as warmly as he could, but when Jack knew who _he_ was, things had changed. Jack had watched him with interest when they were in Marco’s flat and Malcolm had felt his gaze hot on his back, appraising him, seizing him up, and judging him.

It seemed as if the fact that he was dating Clara was enough for Jack to look at him that way. He could relate, after all, that was the same way he had regarded Craig when his sister started dating him. His sister and he were not too close, but he still wanted the best for her and in that time, Craig wasn’t it. He could relate with Jack on that.

“What do you want with my sister?” Jack spoke low, clearly trying to not be heard.

He decided to answer honestly. “A relationship.”

“Just to warm your bed or what?”

“Until she fucking wants me.” He licked his lips and rested his chin on his hand. “Listen, I know what you’re on about and I can tell you that I mean your sister no harm, yeah?”

Jack looked behind his shoulder. He had felt Clara gazing at him but now she pretended to be busy while she filled their cups, she had added one for Jack.

“Just promise me you won’t hurt her, man. She looks tough, but she isn’t.”

“I think you ought to give her more credit.”

Jack sighed and agreed silently with Malcolm. “Just promise me that.”

“I can’t. I will hurt her, that’s for sure, but it will not be because I want to. I cannot promise you that. That’s like fucking asking me to end world hunger.”

Jack looked at him coldly then nodded slowly when he heard Clara walking up to them.

“Fair enough, Tucker.”

“You can call me Malcolm if you like.” He said as he accepted the cup Clara was offering, he gave her a smile to convey his thanks.

“I prefer Tucker. It’s almost like calling you a fucker. Just one letter away.”

Clara put Jack’s cup in front of him on the coffee table and smacked him in the back of the head.

“Be nice.”

He smirked at Jack over the rim of his cup of tea while Jack glared at him with a slightly pout on his lips as Clara went back to the kitchen to get her cup.

“So, Jack, what do you do for a living?” he said trying to initiate some small talk.

“I’ve got a band, it’s more of a hobby lately but it gives me some money.”

“Right.”

“He also went to uni, you know. Got a degree on economics. Top of the class, weren’t you, Jack?” asked Clara as she sat besides Malcolm.

“Yeah, never found a job in that so I followed what I really wanted to do.”

“Have you ever thought of working for the government?” he took another sip of his tea as he waited for an answer.

Jack squirmed in the seat. “I don’t like suits, so no.”

Malcolm nodded and addressed Clara as he put his nearly finished cup of tea on the coffee table. “Thank you for the tea but it’s getting late.”

He stood and shook Jack’s hand as Clara walked towards the door and opened it for him. He thought she was just going to see him to the door but she accompanied him to the first floor.

“See you later, Clara.” He smiled at her, she was standing on one step of the stair, while he was in the landing and they were now roughly the same height. He took her face between his warm hands and kissed her forehead.

“You’re not getting away from here without properly kissing me, Malcolm Tucker.”

He sighed as if he were being forced to do something he didn’t wanted to do, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“I’ve noticed that you’re kind of scared of initiating things sometimes. I mean, that kiss in the forehead when you know I bloody want your lips on mine, what was that?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he lowered his hands to her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. “Just insecure, that’s all. I constantly want to know that that’s what you want. I don’t want to fucking presume.”

“And yet, that’s what you’re doing. You’re presuming I don’t want to kiss you.” She kissed the corner of his mouth softly then moved towards his mouth for a proper kiss. She coaxed his lips open to deepen the kiss as he clutched her tighter to him. When they parted, instead of him drawing back and saying some snarky comment as she expected, he hugged her, his face resting on her shoulder, slightly angled towards the crook of her neck.

That was an unexpected development, one she didn’t mind at all. She pressed him closer to herself and whispered in his ear. “You’ve come to mean a lot to me, you know that, right?”

He nodded but said nothing, his eyes closed tight. He didn’t know where this sudden urge to hug her and be hugged by her came from but it made him feel weak, vulnerable. His eyes stared stinging with the telltale of tears and he breathed in and out to rid himself of them. Words like that are what he needed after a long week of abuse and work. He was the bully in Number 10, he knew that, and there was only so much hate he could direct towards the people at work before it started tiring him. After being in a poisonous environment for most of the day, all he wanted was to find solace in his place and escape from it all for a while, and with those words Clara uttered, he knew she was his escape. For now.

“I’m here for whatever you need me, Malc. Except getting rid of a body, I’m not of much use in that aspect.” She caressed his back, up and down, as one might do to a child.

She heard him chuckle right besides her ear and he kissed her hair. “I care for you as well… and deeply so.” He admitted. “That means I would not ask for your fucking help for burying someone or such thing. I’ve got some acid somewhere. I’d just throw them in there.” He stood back and kissed her cheek as she uncoiled her arms from his neck. He angled his body towards the exit.

 “Thank you for the tea and you know… accepting my invitation. I thought I had to give the food to fucking homeless people because I briefly thought you were not going to come.”

“But I came.”

“But you came.” He reiterated.

She turned to go upstairs and addressed him again. “Don’t work too hard tomorrow, alright?”

He smirked as he retired his somewhat wet coat. She always told him, knowing he would exactly do that. “I promise nothing but I can give it a try.”

“That’s good enough for me. Good night.”

He nodded at her. “Good night, my Clara.” And watched her get inside her flat and close the door.

The rain had stopped completely and the only signs it had left behind was the cold and wet roads. He hurried towards his car and drove home, ready to call it a night.

* * *

 

He had woken up a bit earlier than usual to watch the news, then took the tube and got off on the Westminster stop. He had to walk a lot to get to Downing Street but there it was, the familiar black car that drove around Cabinet ministers. He knew it to be Nicola’s car because he could see Elvis at the front. Elvis spotted him and was driving straight for him as he wrote a morning text to Clara from his Blackberry. He knew her phone number from memory and the reason he was going to text her from his work-phone was to appear busy.

His phone rang and he picked it up. It was a guy from his broadband provider and he tried to hang up but the guy kept asking questions. He opened the door to the car.

“Yeahp gotta go. Yes, actually, gotta go. I'm actually very happy with my broadband provider, yeah.” He said as he got inside. The guy with whom he was talking to thanked him for his time and hung up, leaving Malcolm now free to finish the text he had been writing to Clara.

 

\-----

_Good morning, Clara. Thanks again for last night. I enjoyed my time with you. Hope you did too._

_-M xx_

 

\-----

 

Nicola was also talking to him –or rather at him-, but he didn’t paid much attention to her.

 

“You’ve seen the sack race thing, I suppose.” He reached over to take the newspaper from her lap and put it over his to see what she was talking about. “Yeah there it is.”

 

He chuckled and a smile escaped him when he saw the article she was referring to, mainly because she looked too funny wearing some potato sack.

 

“It’s not funny! It’s not even accurate, because technically I was fourth. So, really, they should have said, ‘Fourth in the Sack race.’ I think we should complain to the PCC.”

 

He snorted and gave her the newspaper back and his Blackberry vibrated again, he didn’t check it immediately, just angled it towards him to see that it was a text from Clara. “Look, stop worrying. The PM is not going to sack you after a week.” He looked at her. “Sacked after 12 months, looks like you’ve fucked up. Sacked after a week, looks like he’s fucked up.”

 

He started writing nonsense on his notepad while he read Clara’s message.

\-----

 

_Good morning, Malc. I really did! Thanks for everything. Have a good day!_

_-Clara_

\-----

 

He sent her a quick message.

 

\-----

 

_You too. Work. Talk later._

_-M._

\-----

 

 “And I’m not doing terribly, am I?” Nicola asked, perplexed.

 

 _Oh no, not all… not at all,_ he thought irritably. Hugh didn’t have a rocky start like Nicola did and that just screamed disaster. He decided to not answer and got himself a bit more comfortable on his seat and looked out of the window.  


“I love the way that they've sandblasted everything around here.” He said in a sarcastic tone as he looked out.  “It’s so clean!”

 

He could feel Nicola glaring daggers at him, but he didn’t care.

 

“I’d just like people to get to know the real me.” He ignored her and started writing some of the things he had to do for the day. When he didn’t answer, she continued. “You know, I feel like I’m coming across as a bit…Oh, I don’t know.”

 

“Glum.”

 

“Smug?” They both said in unison and he looked at her immediately, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

 

“Smug?” she asked offended.

 

 _Too late to row all the way back to the boathouse_ , he thought.

 

“Yeah, you’re coming across more smug than glum.” He elaborated.

 

She huffed and he started looking around, anywhere but her. He intended to do as Clara had said. Not to work too hard and he supposed that extended to not offending anyone in the fucking morning.

 

“Because I am actually quite a fun person, underneath all of this. I’ve got loads of friends.”

 

“Well, I’m sure you have,-” he said as he put his pen in a pocket inside his suit jacket. “-But the trouble is when you say something like that-” A smile threatened to resurface but he suppressed it as best as he could. “-it sounds a wee bit smug.” He reclined back and stared at her as if to convey through a look the sheer truth of his words.

 

He could tell that he had angered her. _Such a fragile ego_ , he thought. The conversation was clearly over. He was a bit close to Downing Street now.

“Could you just pull in over here?” He asked. Then he saw someone that vaguely resembled Stewart and said to Elvis. “And you can take out that cyclist as you’re going; I think he’s Shadow Cabinet.”

 

* * *

 

The day had gone as well as he expected it to go. _Don’t work too hard, don’t work too hard,_ Clara’s voice seemed to resonate through his brain. Some data was lost and the knowledge that everyone at DoSAC thought they could keep such thing hidden from his was laughable. All of them were leaky as fuck.

 

He had felt the need to kill someone and rage and he took a bit of his anger at Nicola, she was responsible for letting such a thing happen.

 

The lunch with ‘The Guardian’ was a complete catastrophe. He had tried to remain as stoic as he could throughout the meeting as Nicola plunged forward with her shitty project that Ollie had brought forward. How had he not advised her against it, he didn’t know. It was more proof that everyone in fucking DoSAC was incompetent.

 

He had taken the lift with Ollie and Terri while Nicola took the stairs. He was ready to leave now and he thanked the stars that there was nothing about the lost data out there. So as he waited, he texted Clara.

 

\-----

 

_I can talk for a bit. Trying to not work too hard. It’s been difficult. How are you doing?_

_-M._

 

\-----

 

_I honestly didn’t expect it to be easy, you know. I’m doing good, just got home. Will be accompanying Jack to look at some flats._

_-Clara_

\-----

 

_You know he could share a flat with Marco._

_-M._

 

\-----

 

_You know my opinion on that… but I’ll tell him anyway. :)_

_-Clara_

 

\-----

 

Ollie had entertained Terri for the time being and he yelled at Nicola to get inside, she then asked Ollie to come outside with her, he didn’t understand why and ignored it. With her being claustrophobic, there were chances that she got queasy or some shit. Maybe he’d have to get her fucking beta blockers.

 

He was saving the phone number on his Blackberry and Terri started talking.

 

“Yep. I’m going to miss my wine tasting again tonight.” He didn’t answer; he just typed another response for Clara. “I expect you’re probably just more of a single-malt man.” The message sent, he went to check his mail and she still couldn’t shut her gob. “I mean, I quite like a-”

 

He huffed and interrupted her. “Look, for fucks sake, we both know I’ve got a Blackberrys to check.”

 

He saw Nicola coming towards him and tried to block his cellphone but he accidentally ended up calling Clara. He stored the phone away in his pocket.

 

“I’m sorry, Malcolm, I’m really sorry.”

 

That sentence hackled up his reigns like nothing else had ever done it. It meant trouble and every single shit that had happened today, the anger he felt towards them all, bubbled to the surface like a volcano. _They fucking know now about the fucking data loss._

 

“Fuck’s sake! Jesus! Christ!” he yelled at the top of his lungs as he smacked the folders on his lap repeatedly and put them aside, he tried to break free from the seat-belt, but couldn’t. “Well, now we’ve got another fucking adjective to add to fucking smug and glum, haven’t we?”

 

“Hello?” Clara said as she picked up the phone. Jack was not yet home and she had her phone connected to a Bluetooth boom box she had bought a few weeks ago. As she answered, Malcolm’s voice bloomed through it, but he was angry.

 

“Fucking retarded!” She heard him yell at the end of the line and that’s when she knew that that phone call wasn’t for her. She lowered the volume of the radio a bit, but it was still a bit loud for her to hear. She knew she should hang up, but such a glimpse into his work-life was too good to waste.

 

“Jesus…Do you not think it would be germane to check who you’re talking to?”

 

She heard the door open but she was too stunned to check if it was Jack. He came running towards her room, thinking she was getting yelled at by Malcolm but when he didn’t saw Malcolm, he opened his mouth to ask what was going on but she shushed him.

 

“It’s a fucking newspaper office! It’s not a fucking sanatorium for the fucking deaf, is it? Are you so dense?” Malcolm paused for a bit and Clara looked at Jack who was grinning and laughing silently while her mouth was agape. She still didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.

 

“Am I going to have to run around slapping badges on people with a big tick on some and a big cross on others so you know when to shut your gob and when to open it? Jesus Christ!”

 

“Oh fucking hell, whomever he’s roasting is fucked.” Said Jack.

 

“Oh, but that’ll probably confuse you as well, won’t it? That’ll be too confusing. You’ll see the cross and go, ‘Oh, fuck, X marks the spot. Better tell this little person all about the Prime Minister’s fucking catastrophic erectile dysfunction!’ Oh, but not to worry. Not to worry. You’ve sent fucking Ollie over there to deal with it.”

 

She heard a female voice and knew that it had to be Nicola, it must be. “I think I should hang up, Jack.”

 

“No, no! Wait!”

 

Malcolm’s voice was heard again. “Fucking Ollie! He’s a fucking… He’s a fucking knitted scarf, that twat. He’s a fucking balaclava!”

 

Clara immediately hung up and turned to Jack who was now laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face. It was a funny situation, she had to admit, but she was still in shock to do anything besides smile in an unbelievingly sort of way. If that was how Malcolm was at work, she was happy to not have met him there.

 

“Oh my fuck, that was the scariest and funniest shit ever.” Said Jack as he sat on the bed and patted the space besides him. “Come sit here, girl.”

 

She did and started chuckling. “Oh shit, that was…”

 

“Fucking hilarious. Now I know why he’s got the reputation he has.” Jack shook his head in amusement. “He sure as hell won’t harm anyone physically but he’ll scar anyone mentally.” He looked at her. “Are you sure you want to embark in a relationship with him?”

 

“Yes, yes, he’s not like that with me. Besides, that’s how he needs to act to keep everyone on their toes.”

 

“Well, make sure to learn a thing or two from him.”

 

* * *

 

“Fucking Nicola leaked the data loss.”

 

That was how Malcolm greeted Jamie when said man walked to his office, his eyebrows knitted in concern.

 

Jamie raked a hand through his messy hair and huffed. “Fucking sew her fucking lips together. She has stirred more shit in a week, _a week_ , than any of her predecessors!”

 

“She’s a political disaster.”

 

“And you put her there, in that position! Making us –the government, look like a bunch of fucking twats!”

 

“I had no other choices and you know it, you pulsing fucking asshole.” He retorted. He kept eating the Satsuma he currently had in hand as he reclined back against the chair and looked at the ceiling as Jamie paced in front of him.

 

“So what? What do we do?”

 

“Finally your dormant intellect resurfaces after years of lying comatose.” He remarked.

 

“What do we do?” Jamie asked, refusing to rise to his bait.

 

“She leaked to a freelance journalist. Marianne. Pretty chick, red hair, ring a bell?”

 

“Not really.”  Jamie’s hands were now on his hips as he looked at Malcolm.

 

“Anyways, my contacts at ‘The Mail’ tell me she has run with them to them with the story.”

 

“So fucking what? We threaten her and cut off her fucking ears and sell them as fucking jewelry for some Jamaican to wear! That’ll teach her not to eavesdrop.”

 

He looked at Jamie as if he were being dense. The problem with Jamie was that he didn’t have any tact or strategy. Everything led to violence some way or another, which was just as well because he was extremely useful in those regards. That was why Malcolm was his boss, to keep a tight rein on Jamie’s metaphorical leash.

 

“Oh, my wee Jamie, we don’t do that. Not now, anyway. We have to run the story with ‘The Mail’. The other bastards are going to be pissed but that’s how it has to be.”

 

Jamie mulled this idea over his mind and nodded reluctantly. “It’ll be better if you invite that bitch to have an exclusive interview with the leaky quim that is Nicola.”

 

“I was thinking that too.” He nodded slowly. “You may go, I’m leaving to DoSAC now and I’m going to give them a fucking earful. I think I will get a fucking hernia.”

 

“You’re not going anywhere. Call them to come over here. They’ll be more fucking scared, aye? I can give them the bad eye when they come in.”

 

Jamie grinned and left for the door, leaving Malcolm smiling to himself. He had checked his phone earlier and noticed that he had accidentally called Clara. She had stayed in line for a large amount of time. He’d have to take care of what she had heard later. She wasn’t a threat. However, he had to try and neutralize the time-bomb Nicola herself had put in motion and fast.

 

* * *

 

 

 The meeting with Nicola and Terri had proved quite enlightening. Now, he knew he had control over Nicola and that she had seen the error of her ways, which was pretty good indeed. Now he could have her walking the fucking line as she fucking should.

 

However, there was a bit that Terri had said that left him laughing –at least on the inside.

 

Terri had mentioned ‘teabagging’. Since she didn’t know, he would make her know what it was; if only to embarrass her.

\-----

 

_From: Malc [mailto._ [ _mtucker@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:mtucker@gov.org.uk) _]_

_To: Wee Jamie [mailto:_ [ _jmacdonald@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:jmacdonald@gov.org.uk) _]_

_Subject: Love, I need your assistance_

_Hey Jamie, Terri doesn’t know what ‘teabagging’ is (I know –fucking laughable!). So I need you to tell her in extreme detail (Some very graphic sexual imagery and if you can find pictures, then that’s better!). Send it to her email. Go and spice the moron-athon that is her life. Do your fucking worst._

_M_

 

\-----

_From: Wee Jamie [mailto:_ [ _jmacdonald@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:jmacdonald@gov.org.uk) _]_

_To: Malc [mailto:_ [ _mtucker@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:mtucker@gov.org.uk) _]_

_Subject: Re: Fucking granted._

_It’ll be a pleasure. Time to fucking scar her for life._

_J_

 

\-----

 

Malcolm chuckled and continued working. Now the rest was up to Nicola’s team, just an hour until he could fuck off to his flat and contact Clara. He needed to speak with her.

 

* * *

 

\-----

 

_Skype._

_-M._

 

\-----

 

_What, now?_

_-Clara_

 

\-----

 

_Well, if you can fucking spare the time._

_-M._

 

\-----

 

He waited until Clara logged on and immediately called her through Skype. He was sitting on the sofa, with the laptop on the coffee table; he had his work attire on sans his tie and suit jacket.

 

The remaining of his working hours he had been thinking about her, about how much of the conversation had she heard. He was afraid he might have said something that shouldn’t have been said. After all, it was rarely the occasions where he got too mad. He didn’t remember much about what he had said and that worried him.

 

He was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands laced in front of his mouth, his concerned gaze fixed on the screen.

 

Clara’s face appeared on screen. Her face portrayed confusion when she saw his expression.

 

“Hello, Malcolm, is something wrong?”

 

“I seriously hope not.” He stared at her image a bit longer than was necessary and lowered his hands. “Look, I need to know what you’ve fucking heard, right? Right, I don’t think that I need to tell you that whatever you heard didn’t happen.”

 

 _So I’ve been caught_ , she thought. “Fine, yeah. It didn’t happen… I… know I should’ve hung up sooner but I was curious, alright? I’m really sorry.”

 

He nodded and rubbed his eyes. “I believe you. But please, for my sake, next time a mistake like that happens, you hang up, you hear me?”

 

She bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

 

“It’s not… that I think you’ll go to the press or something with whatever you hear it’s just…”  he yawned and stretched on the sofa. “Sorry for that. As I was saying, I don’t think you’ll go to the press, I just don’t want you to get a glimpse about how I am at work.”

 

A small smile brightened her features and she tried to hide it by looking down and busying herself with the book she had been reading before Malcolm texted her. “Actually, what I heard was really amusing but I wouldn’t like to be at the end of your anger.”

 

He huffed and tilted his head towards her; acknowledging what she just said. “Darling, you won’t get that much tongue-lashing from me. But fucking…” he restrained himself from saying Nicola’s name. Clara didn’t need to know that. “Some people just try my fucking patience and I am the only one to fucking blame. Like, even when I expect nothing –no bad or good moments, I’m still left fucking disappointed!”

 

He put his head on his hand, his face angled towards the left and she could only see his side profile and quite a bit of his neck.

 

She didn’t know what to say and she felt utterly useless. “Just focus on doing your job, Malcolm. You can’t be everywhere and control everyone’s actions.” Clara said as gently as she could.

 

“That’s just it. It _is_ my job to make them follow the fucking party line. It _is_ my job to shape their actions in a favorable way; a way that will not make any scandals of any fucking kind. But no, all of them are in some way or another, a fucking omni-shambles. Every single one of those bitchy-fuckers.” He sighed and gave her a tired smile. “Sorry that I’m venting here. I’m just fucking pissed.”

 

She dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand. “No worries. By what I heard earlier, you were about to have a massive heart stroke.”

 

“I was about to have one.” He admitted.  “Enough about me. Tell me about you. What have you done today?”

 

“Well, I worked today with Matt, told him to get some pastries from the oven and he almost burnt his apron. How did that almost happen, I don’t know. Then I went with Jack to look at some of the flats. There’s one he likes but its thirty minutes away from here and he doesn’t want to be too far from me.”

 

“Did you tell him about Marco?”

 

“Yeah, he’s out talking to him. They are meeting in a coffee shop, where I work, I think.”

 

He raised his eyebrows at that and nodded to himself. “Hmm, that sounds good, actually.”

 

Clara didn’t know what else to say so she stayed silent, just like he did. But whereas Clara was looking around, thinking about what to say, he was looking at her. It was something he liked to do. Just being able to see her brought happiness to him. Then she caught his eye and smiled at him. He felt for a moment as if all his cares were gone, if at least for some brief seconds.

 

“What were you doing before I… you know, requested your presence?” he bent to unlace his shoes and put them on the floor besides him, along with his socks.

 

“Oh, I was reading.” She raised the book and showed it to him.

 

“Uh.” He got closer to the screen, trying to see what it said but he couldn’t see the title clearly. “What’s the title?” he asked as he reclined back.

 

“‘Great Expectations’”

 

“Ah, Dickens?”

 

“Yes!” she beamed at him. “It’s nice that you know that, actually.”

 

“Hmm, why? Everyone knows who fucking Charles Dickens is and you also told me.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Not everyone, believe me. When I used to date, you know, well… um, guys used to ask me what I did in my spare time and when I mentioned that I liked to read classic and contemporary literature and some TV shows, I was literally labeled as a nerd.”

 

“That’s true. You’re kind of a fucking nerd.”

 

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. I may be a bit of a geek and a nerd. In those years where I was traveling abroad, I used to write and edit programs. I mixed my BA of English with Web developing.”

 

Malcolm leaned forward, impressed. “What a fucking nerd.” He said again and chuckled. “Jesus fucking Christ, I’ve got a nerd as a girlfriend.” He shrugged and smirked at Clara. “At least you’ve got your brain working. You’re not a flake, thank god.   Not that you were before, but this is the tangible proof I’ve got now. That’s fantastic. Do you still write programs and all that?”

 

She smirked at him. “Of course, I do. I’ve got a few clients and the best part is that I can work from home. So I get home from the coffee shop and work a little bit sometimes and done.”

 

“So you’ve got two jobs?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Impressive.”

 

“But you’re also a bit of a nerd.” She said as she pointed at him. “You have a few books on your bookshelf about history and politics.”

 

“Ah, and philosophy.” He admitted, embarrassed. “I’m actually quite a fan of history, really. There’s also a bit of military strategy around, not sure if you saw them.”

 

“No, those I didn’t see.”

 

“You know, I wish you were here.” He unbuttoned the first six buttons of his shirt and Clara followed the path of his fingers until they came to a stop.

 

She bit her lip. “Why?”

 

“So I could give you a spanking for snooping around.”

 

She brought her hand to her chest. “What!? I wasn’t snooping. I was just looking for a movie to watch that time I was at your flat and well…” she shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t help but see those books.”

 

“You lie.” He teased.

 

“You just want to spank me, I know it.”

 

He shrugged. “Maybe. Would you fault me? I’d make up any excuse to spank your fucking ass.”

 

She blushed. “Sometimes I hate that you’re so direct.”

 

“Oh, ta, I can stop you know. Just say the word and I won’t be as explicit as I am.”

 

She shook her head. “It’s quite alright. I’m not uncomfortable when you talk like that and if you stopped talking like that, you wouldn’t be yourself.”

 

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Then why do you hate it?” When she shook her head, refusing to answer he pursued his lips, deep in thought. “Ah! Your brain constructs this fucking sexual imagery, eh? Oh, saucy, Clara.”

 

Clara just glared at him and they stared at each other. Clara looked away with a smile plastered on her face when Malcolm winked at her.

 

“You cheated!”

 

“Nah, you lost, accept your defeat.” He stretched again and scratched the back of his neck. “Tell you what; I will go to your place for a bit because I just… need to see you. Is that alright?”

 

“But you’re seeing me or are you not?” Her tone was a bit cheeky and he raised his eyebrows at her.

 

“You fucking know what I mean. It’s not the same to see the painting of the Mona Lisa through Google images as seeing it in person, aye?” he stood and grabbed the laptop, then began walking to his bedroom. “See you in a bit, Clara.”

 

She waved at him and blew him a kiss. “See you then, Malc.” He chuckled and ended the call. He turned off his laptop and left for a much needed shower.

 

* * *

 

 

He had left his flat in a long-sleeved pale grey polo shirt on the outside, and a regular t-shirt on the inside and jeans, along with his plain black Dr Martens shoes. He had briefly played with the idea of going in pajama pants but quickly dismissed it. It was true that once he came back from Clara’s he would sleep like the dead, although some aid from pills would be needed.

 

He didn’t give his hair time to get dry, he just tousled it a bit with the towel and off he went.

 

When he knocked on Clara’s door, she opened it, smiled brightly at him and jumped on him for a hug. To say that he was surprised at such a welcome was an understandment. He chuckled and hugged her back.

 

“Such a nice welcome.” He murmured against her hair as he breathed in her familiar scent.

 

She turned her head to kiss his cheek, and then he lowered her once again to the floor. “Are you objecting or?” she turned to open the door wider and he walked inside.

 

He looked around, hands in his pockets. “Nah, not at all.” He turned to her as she closed the door and looked at her up and down. She was wearing an old pink t-shirt that said ‘No boyfriend = No problem’ and fleece white pants that said ‘OMG’ in different colours. He nodded at them with his hands. “You stole those pants from a fucking teenager?”

 

“Nope!” She passed a hand on said pants. “I bought them because they were really soft. Take a seat; I’ll make us some tea.”

 

“What’s with you people and the fucking tea?” he asked as he sat on her sofa. “Don’t you have coffee?”

 

“I do, but you look like you need your sleep and the coffee will make you much more alert.”

 

He reclined back on the sofa and crossed his arms as he gaped at her. She was already making them tea, taking the cups from where they were and putting the water to boil, she turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, ‘Problem?’ He let out a soft snort. “I’m going to let you know that if you don’t make me some coffee I will go there and do it myself. I get in a really bad mood when I haven’t had coffee when I want it.”

 

“Yeah, right.” She waved at him to come to the kitchen. “There’s no coffee here. Jack is supposed to buy it when he comes home, I’m _so_ sorry, Malc, honey.”

 

He could tell that she was being sarcastic, that much he could garner from her tone and the playful smile she now had on her face.

 

“Then I will be so fucking pissed.” He said as he stood up and began walking to the kitchen, intending to sneak in behind her while she was doing the dishes.

 

“You are all bark and no bite, Malcolm.”

 

“Oh, am I?” he whispered against her ear. He had successfully crept behind her. It was a technique he had acquired as a child, one he had perfected over the years.

 

She felt his hot breath against her ear and she caught the unmistakable smell of citrus and underneath that, the smell of cigarettes. “Yes, you are and you know it.”

 

“Hmm.” He wrapped his arms around her middle and put his chin on her shoulder as he watched her hands cleaning the dishes. “Maybe.” He admitted as he thought of all the threats he had issued over the years. They were just empty threats, words, and yet, they had earned him the reputation he had now. Maybe it was the way he issued those treats or maybe they were just fucking idiots.

 

She finished doing the dishes and wiped her hands on her shirt; he turned her around and looked at the shirt she was wearing. “I guess you now have a boyfriend and you have a lot of problems.”

 

She shrugged as she hooked her arms around his neck. “Not nearly as much as I thought I would.”

 

“He’s a lucky bastard.”

 

“He is.” She admitted with a grin. “But he’s my bastard.” She kissed his chin and moved away from him to prepare the tea. Once she was done, she gave him his cup and he brought it to his nose to sniff at it then took a sip.

 

“Okay, that’s weird, why did you sniff it?”

 

“I was just checking for the poison.”

 

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Idiot.”

 

He chuckled and followed her to the sofa, where he sat besides her. “Tell me you don’t like the banter.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Come on, say it.”

 

“You’re acting like a teenager.” She teased.

 

“Do excuse me for trying to get you to admit it. Is there a more… _adult_ way to make you admit it?”

 

She shrugged and stayed silent.

 

“Silence speaks louder than words. Or so I’m told. So you like the banter. Anyways…” he took a last sip of his tea and put it down. He didn’t want anymore. “So Dickens. Is he your favourite author?”

 

She put her cup on the coffee table besides his. “Not really. He’s good, but his novels are so bloody long.”

 

“Do you know why they’re like that?” he asked.

 

“Not a clue.”

 

“Well-” he scratched the back of his neck and chewed the inside of his cheek. “I’m not fucking sure about this, but I read somewhere that he got paid by the word. That’s why his novels are so fucking long and such a pain in the ass. I don’t fault him though; I would’ve done the same.”

 

“You know a lot of information. How do you store all that in your brain?”

 

He shrugged and tapped his temple. “Discipline, I suppose. But to tell you the truth, I know a wee bit about many things, that’s how I am able to get by.”

 

“Well, I didn’t learn about that at uni.” She chewed her nail and cast a sideways glance at him when he made a ‘humph’ sound.

 

“Clara, the professors never teach you anything –or at least anything of importance. They teach you what they’ve been taught and occasionally some new information. The rest you have to learn by yourself.”

 

She nodded and leaned on his shoulder. He in turn, put his arm around her shoulders. He thought she fitted perfectly on the crook of his shoulder and it was such a familiar thing for her to do, that he thought nothing of it. It felt as if she’s been doing that forever.

 

“You’re tired.” She said. Clara could tell by the way his eyes were dropping and the way he was slumped on her sofa.

 

“I am.”

 

“And yet… you came here.” She said as she kissed his neck and curled her feet under her.

 

He hummed in appreciation and tightened his hold on her. “I wanted to see you. Spend some time with you.”

 

“And I’m really glad you came.” She said as she passed her hand over his belly. He shuddered. “Are you ticklish?”

 

He snorted. “That’s such a loaded fucking question. If I say no, you’ll test it and if I say yes, you’ll test me as well.”

 

“Me?” she gasped.

 

“Yes, you, who else is here, eh?”

 

She started caressing his side and he tensed up. “Clara…”

 

“What?” she asked innocently. Far too innocently for his liking.

 

“Do not fucking tickle me.”

 

“Or what?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

Right then, she started tickling him and he tried to pry her hands from his body but she was too fucking squirmy and he started chuckling despite his better judgment.

 

“Fucking stop!” he wheezed. She didn’t answer but instead, kept tickling him with more vigor.

 

It seemed that the only way to stop her was to either push her away or trap him beneath him since she was practically sitting on top of him, tickling him. He did the later.

 

She stopped tickling him and looked at him with her brown shiny eyes and slowly inched her hands from his stomach to around his neck. Time seemed to stop right then and there, it was only just the two of them and nothing seemed to matter anymore, not even his need for sleep.

 

He settled more comfortably between her legs and supported himself with his left arm besides her. Moving some strands of hair that had fallen on her eyes, he moved them with his free hands. He gazed down and traced her face with the pads of his fingers, barely touching her.

 

“Got you to stop.”

 

“I was hoping you’d stop me in this way.”

 

“Fuck, really?”

 

She nodded and played with the hairs on the back of his neck. He had the brief thought of just laying down on her breasts and sleep the night away. _Not tonight_ , he thought.

 

She nodded. “Yeah. You’re kind of predictable.”

 

He snorted. “Hardly. The other option was pushing you off of me. You would have landed on the coffee table or the floor if I threw you the other way. But that’s no way to treat your hosts.”

 

“Oh?” she arched an eyebrow at him. “Then how do you treat your hosts?”

 

“Depends. I’m cordial to some and to those I really, like I treat them like this.” He crashed his mouth on her and immediately deepened the kiss. His brain was swimming with the emotions and feelings running through his body. His heart swelled at the impact of them.

 

Holding her beneath him felt as good as when she straddled him. He had her at his mercy, like he wanted. He broke from the kiss to trail a path from her jaw to her neck. Biting, licking, and sucking until he got down to her collarbone. He kissed her shoulder and slowly inched upwards, kissing a path from it to her ear.

 

“Like that, did you?” he whispered huskily. His temperature had gone up and he knew that he should really leave. The events of the day, the lack of sleep, would make him want to bed her and it wouldn’t be some sweet love making what he would do to her. No, it would be some raw angry fucking, because even though he was treating her with the utmost respect and teasing her, he knew he needed an outlet for his anger and it would most likely come out in that way.

 

“I did.” She said and slowly opened her eyes, which were dilatated and half-lidded.

 

He smirked at her. “Good.” He simply said and grabbed hold of her head for another kiss and she gladly gave in.

 

He broke the kiss after about 30 seconds and moved away from her. He took his phone from his pocket and looked at the hour. It was 9, almost 10 and he frowned. “It’s 9:53.” He looked at her as she sat on the sofa, fixing her hair. “Time fucking flies when you’re enjoying yourself.”

 

“Can you stay?” She knew asking was futile, since he couldn’t, but she couldn’t stop herself from voicing that thought.

 

“You know I can’t.” he stood and she accompanied him to the door.

 

“Hopefully one day you can.”

 

“Maybe. But I seriously hope that one day we don’t have to ask if I can stay or vice versa.” He took her hands in his. They were smooth and small, while his were bigger and wrinkly, with the veins on the back of his hand protruding from the skin.  “I hope that one day you move in with me.”

 

“I’m sure that can be possible.” She said as she locked her gaze with his.

 

His breath caught at her words and he swopped down for a shorter kiss. “Until then, I bid you good night, Clara.”

 

“Good night, Malcolm.” She replied softly and he kissed her cheek and brought her in close for a hug. He was not a hugger, his hugs were awkward at best; but he did like the feel of her in his arms.

 

He slowly released her, kissed her forehead and trudged downstairs to his car. As he drove from his house, he thought about checking out houses to buy to have an idea on what he wanted when the prices dropped –because they would.

 

He thought about a large house for him in Clara and despite his internal protests, he did imagine children with them as well.

 

Maybe achieving all that was closer than he expected.

 

He hoped.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments everyone! I'm also waiting for Malcolm and Clara to fucking do something but everytime I try, Malcolm is like "nay, nae yet." Sigh. xx

“I know I haven’t called you in a week... or was it two? I don’t fucking know.” Malcolm said as he rubbed his eyes sleepily. Three weeks had passed since he had met Clara at her place, it didn’t felt like three weeks to him, if he was honest. He rarely kept track of the calendar –except to check if he had meetings. It was getting difficult to manage a relationship, he knew, and he felt he wasn’t making an effort, at all. As he knew, work was consuming his life and he was letting it do so while he tried to fix somebody else’s life.

Malcolm had been working the first week on normal stuff he had to do at work, almost getting home at midnight. He always sent a text to Clara telling her that he had gotten home and talked with her briefly until she fell asleep or hung up and on the second week, he didn’t called at all, just sent her morning messages and kept on working.

The problem came on February 1st, when David Fanning, -the minister for schools- was being rumored to have touched inappropriately some women from staff and that he was also an alcoholic. It wasn’t rumored exactly because those women were telling that to anyone who would listen. He had been trying to manipulate the media in any way he could but now he had another issue, slightly bigger. The President of the National Association of Head Teachers was saying that too, and that she had been assaulted verbally and physically by David. He came to the logical conclusion that David needed to be fired, eviscerated, thrown in fucking lava and shipped off to Mars. The matter with David had gone way too far and it was out of his hands now.

So now he was calling Clara, at 2:16am. He realized when he looked at the calendar that Valentine’s Day was in just four days –five, if you counted the 14th itself. He was panicking. He had to take her somewhere. They had known each other now for roughly a month and she deserved that much, didn’t she? Of course she did.

He sighed and reclined more comfortably in his chair at Number 10. He had been practically living in the building, barely sleeping, only driving to his house to catch an hour of sleep, shower, and come back to work.

“I’m sorry, really. I’ve been working nonstop. All I have to do is move all my shit to my office and done. The fuckers won’t even notice I’m living here.” He chuckled and stayed silent for a bit, trying to organize his thoughts. What was he supposed to say after being absent for such a long time? What if she didn’t want him anymore? But more importantly, what did she want to hear from him? He stood and walked towards the pantry to get himself some red-bull and locked himself in there. “My absence is inexcusable. That’s what I think. There were many times I could have texted you, but didn’t. Mainly for fear of straying off my fucking course and lose perspective. And to be honest, it has gotten really hard to do so lately. And even more so when I have to lie for a fucking moron with a wandering hands syndrome.”  He reclined his head against the wall and clutched his IPhone tighter. “I want to make it up to you, somehow. I know the 14th is near. Streets swarming in with couples. Just… tell me if you want to do something and I’ll fucking do it. Go to a nice restaurant, watch a movie, hold hands while we walk the fucking street, I don’t care, I just want to do something for you and be with you. Anything. Except wearing a fucking kilt. Did it once, my balls nearly froze with the cold and unforgivable Scottish air.” Followed that sentence, he stayed silent as he drank. “Sleep tight, my Clara. I…I… I’ve missed you. Just wanted you to fucking know that. Shit, I’m going mellow. Bye.” He hung up and let out a whoosh of air.

He knew he was being a complete and utter asshole. That call was definitely not what he had in mind. He wanted to be direct, assertive, tell her that they were going to a nice restaurant that day and that he would pick her up but what came out was way different. For the first time in a while, he took in stock somebody else’s feelings. He was thinking that she would be mad at him or at least upset, that’s why he let the option of going somewhere with him, to her.

He had left her a four minute message with all the sighing he did –at least he thought so. He tidied up his office a bit as he thought about what to say to David; teach him a fucking lesson and consequently, fire him. His tactic consisted of: abuse, abuse, tell him indirectly about the sacking, and more abuse. That simple.

He sat behind his desk, got out his Blackberry and dialed him. Malcolm knew that that man was most likely asleep, but he wouldn’t get a whisk of sleep if he didn’t deal with this now, and besides, Malcolm had spent many sleepless nights because of that twat.

David picked up at the first ring. “Malcolm. What the fuck? It’s… it’s half past two in the fucking morning.”

Malcolm let out a humourless laugh. _I’ve been staying past two in the fucking morning for you, cunt._ “Oh boo hoo, pisshead. Unless you’ve rigged up some kind of fucking intravenous brandy shunt, I’m guessing you’re not technically drinking right now.”

“I’m not an alcoholic, Malcolm.” Came the tired reply.

“Ha! Yeah, right, and it’s about five hours before you have the first of your fucking breakfast Screwdrivers. So maybe now, at fucking 2:27a.m, there’s a chance we can get through a conversation without you spilling something on your fucking pyjamas or bursting into tears.”

He could hear the other man inhaling and exhaling, clearly angry with him, as if he did give a fuck. Malcolm stopped giving one long time ago, except where Clara was concerned. He did give a fuck about her.

“This had better be an emergency, Malcolm. I have a very busy day tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, let me help you with that. I think we might be able to significantly reduce your fucking workload.”

“No.” said David in a breathy voice, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Despite his tiredness, Malcolm was enjoying this. He grinned. “Give you the opportunity to spend more time with your hangover.”

“No.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid yes, Dave. Consider your improvised comedy cabaret last night as a farewell performance. Blundering around a dinner dance like some pissed football mascot, you fucking cumstain.”

“Malcolm. It was a party for Christ’s sake, not a fucking funeral.”

Malcolm snorted, he couldn’t believe the gall of this man, he stood and started pacing while making articulate gestures with his hands as he talked despite the fact that he was alone in his office and David couldn’t see him. “Your funeral, pal. Your funeral. There’s been an official complaint. President of the fucking National Association of Head Teachers says you verbally assaulted her.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“That you felt her tits.”

“No.”

“Bit of a blurry, slurry fucking blank, is it?”

“I can’t fucking remember it because it didn’t fucking happen.” Dave whispered angrily at him. “I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Dave, that’s exactly what we've been telling journalists for weeks. He’s not an alcoholic. He was on painkillers. It was a loose bit of carpet. He was having a fucking diabetic hypo. All those times, I said you weren’t an alcoholic. And you weren’t, right?”

“I…”

Malcolm shook his head and scratched his chin with his free hand. “And now I’m saying that last night you were an alcoholic. Up to you. Either I was wrong then or I’m wrong now.  Either way you’re dead in a pool of your own piss.”

“How fucking dare you, actually, Malcolm. My drinking…”

He kicked one of the chairs in anger. “Oh, I don’t give a pig’s wank about your drinking, Dave. We’re heaving your fat arse out of the balloon because you’re fucking useless. That Select Committee appearance. We could have pushed a fucking Walrus into a cheap suit and sat it in front of the fucking microphone. You’re shit. You’re beyond shit. You’re metashit. You’re ultrashit.”

“This is outrageous. So you’re saying I’m sacked but that my drink…issues have nothing to do with it?”

Malcolm chuckled and sat behind his desk once again. “Would you like them to have something to do with it? As I say, I can brief either way. ‘He wanted to say goodbye personally, but it’s after lunch, so he’s in the Gents being doubly incontinent and puking, like the gurgling middle-aged fucking baby he is’. You fucking useless cockbun.”

He hung up and groaned as he massaged his temples. _That went well_ , he thought. Now that he could go to his flat and sleep in peace for about five hours until he had to go to work again, he put on his coat, gathered his files in his briefcase and left the building.

* * *

 

As he walked towards the stairs, he looked up to see the glittering dark sky. It was such a shame that he couldn’t see what people could see decades ago. No stars or the constellations, nothing. It was just dark. He trudged up stairs and the familiar smell of cigarettes entered his nostrils and he frowned. He could see the outline of a body near Marco’s door but it couldn’t be him, could it? He walked towards the shadow and sure enough, it was Marco.

“Didn’t know you smoked.” He commented as he squeezed Marco’s shoulder and went for his door.

Marco barely turned towards him. “Well, I didn’t until recently.”

“Ah. Well, leave that shit soon. It’ll fuck you up.” He said as he put his briefcase down and fished the keys from his pocket to open the door.

“It’s not a habit. It’s occasional. You’ve been getting home late, man.”

Malcolm chuckled and glance at him sideways. “Brilliant observation.”

“Don’t forget to live, man.”

Malcolm frowned. “Are you trying to fucking tell me something?”

Marco simply shrugged and gave him a loop-sided smile. “Not really. Just that what may seem important now, might not look so important when you look back at it. Just a thought. I’m going to paint that thought.”

“Yeah… you do that. Night.” He picked his briefcase and closed the door behind him.

What Marco had said troubled him quite a bit, got him thinking. Thinking was not bad, but right now, when he wanted to sleep, it was the fucking evil incarnate. He didn’t even shower for fear of waking himself up with the water, he just undressed down to his pants, swallowed down the half of his sleeping pill and slept for a bit.

Despite the fact that the night was cold, he felt warm, as if someone was warming him up. But he knew that to be false. He was sleeping alone, Clara was at her place and no one was there with him to soothe him as he slept, put his mind to rest for a little bit. For the next day, he had nothing to do. He could see her, but to be honest, he looked so run down and he had had stubble for about a week or two –now bordering on a beard- and he couldn’t afford to have her seeing him like that. Bag under his eyes was one thing, but bloodshot eyes, tousled hair and a beard to boot… no, she couldn’t see that.

* * *

 

The next day, he woke up at seven only to see that he had a lost call from Clara. He got slightly pissed at himself because he could’ve picked it up, but his sleep was so heavy and so badly needed, that he didn’t even hear his phone. And calling her was out of the question since he didn’t know if she worked, still, it was better to get sent to her voicemail than not calling at all.

He dragged himself to the kitchen to make some toast and coffee. Malcolm rang her as he was turning on the coffee machine and reclined against the counter as he waited for her to pick up. He yawned and rubbed his sleepy eyes, the effect the pill had on him had yet to wear off, but he was still functional enough to do simple things like make himself some food. He should probably cancel the 8:30 meeting as well. As he was going to hang up, Clara picked it up, and her sweet voice rendered him speechless for a few seconds. He thought his heart might have stopped. How he missed her voice.

“Malcolm, you there?”  Despite him not calling her, she still sounded concerned. The realization that she didn’t deserve such treatment hit him hard.

“Yes, yes I am.” He answered meekly.

“So… uh, you meant that? What you said in the voicemail?”

He nodded but since she couldn’t see him, he answered. “Yes. I lie and cheat on a daily basis but it’s just for the fucking government.” He chuckled and scratched the back of his head. “I was going to ask if I could possibly see you tomorrow, so we can talk and get up… to date. Oh, Clara.” He sighed. “I’m really sorry.”

“As you should be.” He cringed at her words. “But that’s just your job. I kind of figured you wouldn’t be always available, you know?” she paused for a moment and he held his breath. He was just waiting to hear a ‘but’ from her. He was certainly awake now. “And yes, you come around for tea tomorrow, yeah?”

He released the breath he had been holding and nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

He could practically see her smiling slightly when she replied. “From 6 to 6:30. I expect you at my place. I’ve got to go, duty calls.”

“Okay and Clara?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve really fucking missed you. I think that with this slight absence, my heart has really grown fonder of you. Take care.”

She chuckled. “You too, Malcolm.”

He hung up and set up to prepare his shameful excuse for a breakfast. There was a time when he made real healthy breakfast. Those occasions were when he was not the Director of Communications and now when Clara stayed over. He had told her that he ate a healthy breakfast, but the truth was that he didn’t. In her gaze, he saw that she was already worried enough as it was. He didn’t need to add to her worry.

* * *

 

Around ten, David came to Number Ten to sign off his resignation with Jamie present. The man had started yelling and whatnot and had been removed forcefully from his office by Jamie. He then returned to Malcolm’s office and looked curiously at him.

“What’s the matter with you and the beard thing?”

Malcolm passed the back of his hand over his cheek, as if surprised to find that what he thought was stubble, was now a beard. “Just experimenting to see if I like it.” He shrugged one shoulder as he wrote the password to his email, then looked up at Jamie briefly. “Why, does it look wrong?”

“It does. Beards make mouths look like vaginas. Thought you should know.”

“Well, thanks for letting me know.”

“Always out to help a pal.” Jamie said as he left, leaving Malcolm to look at his emails alone. He didn’t wanted a beard, he just forgot to shave with all the havoc that had been going on lately and subsequently, he had misplaced his razor so he also had to stop in a shop to get a new one later on.

He sighed and rolled his eyes at himself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Am I getting fucking Alzheimer or what_? The razor wasn’t the first thing he had misplaced. He also couldn’t find his earphones, though he was sure that if he cleaned his house now, he would certainly find them. His clothes were everywhere around the room and he hadn’t done the laundry in about a week. One of the bad things of Malcolm Tucker was that once he got his mind set to a task, the rest became inconsequential to him, that is, if said things were objects, not living people.

He knew he could leave unattended inanimate objects and these things wouldn’t object to it –because they fucking couldn’t. But Clara could certainly object to it, that’s why she wasn’t inconsequential.

He had already marked the last month of the year in his calendar as the month he would resign. He wanted to at least finish the year so he could pursue other interests. He had enough money to buy himself a house and live comfortably for a while until he got another job, but the idea of making some sort of diary to make into a book after he resigned, appealed to him. People dig gossip and he would sure as hell deliver that and exploit his knowledge of the present and past PMs.

Or he simply could cheat. Make a contract that said that they would give him X amount of money (non-refundable) for the draft and once they saw it couldn’t be used, nothing of his life or the PMs’ would be out and he would have money. Yes, that one sounded more like him.

He saw an interesting subject for an email and opened it.

\-----

  _From: Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_[ _scassidy@gov.org.uk_](mailto:scassidy@gov.org.uk) _]_

_To: Malcolm Tucker_

_Subject: Oxford offer_

_You’ve had an invitation from Professor Andrew Ward to become Oxford University’s next Visiting Professor of Communications. It’s a twelve month post requiring you to deliver four lectures and attend some dinners. Are you interested?_

\-----

_From: Malcolm Tucker [_ [ _mailto:mtucker@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:mtucker@gov.org.uk) _]_

_To: Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker_

_Subject: Fuck OFF_

_For fuckssake. Can’t people see I’m busy? I’m working my replacement iron bollocks off here. Get back to them with something like:_

_Dear Professor Yafflecock,_

_I have a violent hatred of posh people, arrogant people, academic people, young people and people who live outside of London somewhere that isn’t Scotland. I also have a pathological hatred of people who live in Oxford, students, students at Oxford University, professors in general, Professors at Oxford University, people who like rowing, people who like cycling, people who like fucking punts and people who join the Oxford Revue. I saw it once –it was the unfunniest thing I’ve ever seen and I watch politicians tell jokes for a living. I’d like to have taken a screwdriver to everyone in the Oxford Revue and used it to hack/chisel/lever out their funny bones, then used their funny bones to tickle the back of their throats until they vomited so hard they threw up bits of their own skeleton._

_Plus, I’m busy. I’m spending the next twelve months travelling round Britain on a killing spree for charity._

_So, probably not._

_Sam –can you tidy that up for me?_

\-----

_From: Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ [ _scassidy@gov.org.uk_ ](mailto:scassidy@gov.org.uk) _]_

_To: Andrew Ward_

_Subject: Extremely generous offer_

_Dear Professor Ward,_

_Busy. But thanks! Big fan._

_Best wishes,_

_Malcolm_

_*Sent on behalf of Malcolm Tucker_

\-----

He nodded to himself as he read the copy of the message Sam had sent Ward. Everything he had written was true, but of course, there were always exceptions and Clara seemed to fit in about three or four of them. It was an unspoken agreement he had with himself, that he would never get on with someone younger than him or a British woman, yet, here he was, in a relationship with a woman that was just that. He messed up his own rule. He had told countless of times to public figures how wrong it looked because the public would think them a pervert. He knew they were indeed perverts, but he wasn’t one.

What he felt for Clara was nothing of the like and way more different than what those men felt for those not-so-innocent women they lured into their bed. At least Clara was a couple of years older than those women, so that was a relief for him.

It was also a relief for him that she accepted him back so easily. He knew from experience that negative emotions were stronger than their more positive ones. If she was anything like him, she would be storing those negative emotions and waiting for the right moment to spew them out of her mouth, like poison; powerful enough to hurt him. Or if she really was how she appeared to him, she simply applied the logic wherever it fit and discard those types of emotions as inconsequential.

Malcolm sometimes managed his emotions like that. The one he used the most was anger, he used it so much that now it came like a second language to him. He could summon that emotion from deep within, exploit it, and use it to his advantage. Although he rarely let that emotion get a hold of him because somehow, it always led to grief or made him feel a tad depressed.

He remembered a time when he was just in elementary school, that the bigger guys used to bully him because he was smaller and skinnier than all of them. Groups of three and sometimes four used to gang up on him. He remembered how he used to curve into a ball and just think that what was happening to him, was happening to someone else. Oddly enough, that tactic worked when he stopped making any sound and just waited for it to pass. They stopped bothering him soon enough. There was no satisfaction in hurting someone or something that didn’t even make a sound.

He had told his father once about that and his father said that he should fight back and that that experience would toughen him up in the future; and it did.

Shaking himself from such thoughts, he went to give DoSAC a visit. He needed a damn long walk.

* * *

 

Once in the lift, he pressed the button to get to the fourth floor and saw Ollie running towards the lift. Instead of holding the door open for him, he stood back, with a smile plastered on his face and watched how the doors closed on Ollie’s face. That incident was quite satisfying for him. He would’ve liked Ollie if he wasn’t so damn self-centered and told everyone what they wanted to hear. With those characteristics, the man would quite possibly be evil, period.

Most people in the government would think Malcolm was evil, but he really wasn’t. He just had the balls to tell them how the shit was run, what was wrong because he was no fucking shrinking flower. He was afraid of no one, and therefore, he was kind of a lawful evil. He didn’t do anything that wasn’t strictly necessary.

He stopped by Glenn’s desk and sat on the edge of it. Now he didn’t know why he was at DoSAC. He had no business here.

“Anything new?” he asked.

“Oh, no, no, Malcolm. Everything’s going smoothly, like melted chocolate.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at him. “Melted chocolate, really.”

“Y-yes. I’m sorry I don’t have another analogy.”

He snorted and moved from Glenn’s desk. “Where did you get that analogy anyways? From the ‘Third Year Swear Words and Shitty Analogies’?  It’s fucking shit.”

“You are the worst!” said Ollie as dumped his stuff on his desk.

“Who are you talking to, Spaghetti boy?”

“You, of course.” Ollie pointed at him and walked to stand besides him.

“Oh, is this about the lift? I’m deeply sorry. You should have ran faster.”

“Or you could have held the doors open for me.”

“Oh dear God, Ollie, let it go. It’s just a lift.” Said Glenn.

Malcolm put his hands in his pockets and nodded towards Glenn as he looked at Ollie. “What the homosexual sexagenarian said; also I’m sure there’s a sign that says specifically that we can’t really do that.” He shrugged and smiled at both of them. “Going to talk to Nicola, it was a nice chat.”

“Oh, Nicola’s on the phone, I’m afraid.” Said Glenn.

Malcolm snorted and scratched his chin. “Should I keep talking to you puppets while she finishes? I’m no ordinary worker of the government.”

He walked into Nicola’s office without knocking and closed the door behind himself. He heard the name ‘James’ multiple times, so that let him know she was talking with her husband. He waited for her to finish as he looked around her office and looked disinterestedly at his nails. He could have told her to hang up but what he had to ask wasn’t urgent and he had manners; he wasn’t a caveman.

“So Malcolm-” she began as she put her cell phone in a drawer. “What can I do for you?”

“No. What we can do for each other, that’s the question.” He said as he sat in the chair in front of her desk. He frowned at her as he sat. Being on the other end of the desk felt strange. “Sit besides me, please.”

“But I’m so comfortable sitting here.”

“I’m asking nicely, yeah? You don’t want me to drag you by your fucking pubes and sit you in the fucking chair, right?”

She huffed and moved from behind her desk to sit besides him on the vacant chair. “For your information, I do shave.”

“Oh, no Brazilian wax?” he angled the chair towards her.

“How do you know about that?”

“Everybody fucking knows about that. Leaves a vagina looking pristine and new. Anyways, I came here to do two things. One, how are you copping with this shitty department?”

“Right, um… everything’s alright. I mean, Terri and Robyn are sometimes useless but Robyn makes the tea so I can’t really complain there.”

“Yeah, yeah, what about Ollie and Glenn?”

“They are okay. They do nothing.”

He snorted and crossed his legs. “That’s because there’s nothing to fucking do. Listen, the second thing I came here for is extremely confidential and will not leave the confines of this room, got it?”

“Yes, yeah, what is it?”

“Just a question. I don’t fucking trust you so do not fucking take this as a lady-talk, because it isn’t.”

“Right…”  She sat straighter and looked at him with suspicion.

“Hypothetically speaking, if you abandon a person for X amount of time–let’s say this person is a woman-, how will she react if you, say… went to see her later? With her consent, of course.” he stated as he was indifferent to the answer.

He could have questioned Sam about that issue but she almost always shrugged when he asked her things involving anything of the romantic nature. He noticed over time, when some of the guys tried to win her over, that she would just go out with them once, and any advance they made after that would be completely fruitless. He had seen how they gave her chocolates or such things and she would come to share them with him. She just wasn’t versed in anything romantic.

And he just realized that Nicola was no help either, judging by the way she looked at him.

“Oh, Malcolm! I didn’t know you dated!” she looked at his left hand and gasped. “Of course, you have a wedding ring, how could I have missed that?”

“Oh, the ‘wedding ring’.” He scoffed and took out his ring. “This is just a reminder of what I will probably never have. No fucking wife.” She gave him a pitying look and he laughed outright. “Fuck me, you are so gullible. This ring is in that finger because it doesn’t fit on my middle finger.” He demonstrated it and put it back on its rightful finger.

“Oh.” She glared at him and shook her head. “It depends on the woman; we’re not all the same. If I were her and say, were madly in love with you then I’d be upset. If I were a vindictive bitch and madly in love with you I’d be upset and would cut off your fucking balls.”

“Charming.” He gulped. “Now, hypothetically speaking, how would I fix that?”

“Lots of alone time, if you know what I mean. And talking, that always helps.”

 _So I said that shit for nothing._ “That’s fucking commonsense.” He huffed.

“Well, you did ask! Now, how will you help me?”

“I won’t. You didn’t give me any useful information.” He rose from the chair and went for the door. “Useless Nicola. You’re useless to me.” He said as he pointed at her and left.

As he was pressing the button to get to the lobby, he called Nicola on the phone.

“What, Malcolm?”

“I forgot to threaten you. If a word of this gets out, I will _really_ use your skin as a fucking sleeping bag. I was joking before when I first said it but I am not now.”

He ended the call and released a sigh. Reclining on the lift, he closed his eyes until he got to the lobby. _That was one fucking stupid maneuver, Malcolm._

* * *

 

“Hey, I noticed you haven’t eaten so I brought you a bagel.”

Sam held the paper bag to him and he took it.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to. You should have just left me to die of fucking starvation.”

She chuckled. “It’s not in my best interest.”

“Oh?” he took a bite. “Why not?”

“I hate job hunting.”

He chuckled and pointed at her with the bagel. “Smart answer. Love it. Who bought this for you?”

“The guy from Health.”

“Oh, you are still fucking with him?”

She rolled her eyes and walked towards the door. “No, he’s just an idiot. Went with him for lunch only twice. He still brings me lunch. When I can savage what he gets me from Jamie, I bring it to you.”

Malcolm grunted as he finished the bagel. “Either it was delicious or I was fucking hungry. Thanks.”

“No problem, boss.” She left and left him to get on with his work.

Only one hour until he got out, and he found out that for once, he _did_ want to go home. He would stop to buy a razor and sleep like the dead. Even though he had slept about five hours, he still felt groggy. Either he needed sleep or he was starting to lose his edge.

A cigarette break and work done, he went to a small shop, almost near where Clara lived but not quite, and went in to buy the razor. He scratched his cheek, mainly because having facial hair itched. He wasn’t used to it so it was normal and he desperately wanted to get rid of it. He took a bottle of after shave and shaving cream and as he was rounding the corner, he saw Clara in the women’s section, looking at the pads, he presumed, because she was comparing them.

He hid behind a shelf and contemplated his next course of action. He wanted to hug her, kiss her and talk with her, but there was the issue of her seeing him with a slight beard. He wasn’t a conventionally attractive man –though he considered himself to be quite handsome, but with a beard, he didn’t know how much that decreased his attractiveness. However, the choice was made for him when he felt a hand clasp his shoulder.

“Hey, Malcolm, mate. Good to see you!” It was Jack.

“Oi.” Malcolm disengaged himself from his grip. “What brings you around here?”

“Oh, nothing for me, just Clara’s, you know… stuff.”

He nodded in understanding. “Right.”

“You are not going to ask where she is? I find that surprising considering you haven’t had contact with her in a fucking while. Just what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Listen, this is not your time to be Superman, you fuckwit. My patience has been running short lately and I don’t want her to see me with a fucking beard, get that?”

Jack grinned in understanding. “No worries, she digs beards.” He forcibly dragged Malcolm to the aisle and Malcolm kicked his shin. “Fuck!” Jack released him but the noise brought Clara’s attention and now she just stared at Malcolm as if surprised to see him there.

He had no other choice; he approached her while Jack moved to the other side of the shop to give them more privacy.

“Hey.” He said, not quite sure what to do. He put the basket with his items on the floor and opened his arms for her. She didn’t hesitate, she walked towards him and hugged him, unsure. He pressed her tighter to him. “I’m really glad I saw you today. Although I didn’t wanted you to see me with a beard.”

The smell he emanated was strongly reminiscent of cigarettes. It was an unpleasant smell, one she didn’t quite tolerated yet. The previous times she had smelled that on him, she ignored it, but now, she found out that she could not.

“You stink of cigarettes.” She said as she peeled herself away from him. She was now giving him what he considered to be ‘the skank face’. It was disgust expressed all over someone’s face while they frowned.

“Ah.” He put his hands in his pockets. “I smoked before I came here. Well, not exactly.” He frowned. “About an hour or less before I came here, actually.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “So you haven’t made any efforts to stop smoking?” he stayed silent and she huffed in exasperation. “You haven’t.”

“Au contraire, I have leveled up the dose.” He smiled, but at her look of reproach, he looked down at his shoes. “I’m sorry, but these last weeks had been hell on Earth.”

“I can see that.” She said as she brought a hand to his cheek. “Doesn’t look too bad on you, but you’d have to let your hair grow longer for it to look better, I think.” She said as she tried to stir the conversation to safer waters. She did want to talk about his absence and what it meant for them but this was not the place, nor the time.

“I will have that in mind.”  He put his hand on top of hers, where it was resting on his cheek and looked at her in the eyes. “I’ve missed you.” He had lost count of all the times he had said that to her. He was certain he had been refraining himself from saying that multiple times, but it was the truth. He had missed her. He had missed her voice, her laugh, her smile, those fiery brown eyes… everything that was her. His heart started beating faster when she brought her hand to his chest, just on top of his heart, and he had an astounding realization.

 _I love her… or I’m beginning to. Oh, fuck me._ He gulped and blinked as he looked down at her hand on his chest, effectively breaking their eye contact. He was willing his heart rate to go back to normal when Clara lowered her hand from his chest and kissed his cheek, catching him unaware.

“I’ve got to go. Jack must be waiting for me outside.”

He nodded dumbly and released her hand.

“I’ve missed you too.” She said. “Way too much to be healthy.”

He cracked a smile at that as she bent to pick her basket.

“Aren’t you going to give me at least a kiss?”

She walked up to him and grabbed his black tie and kissed it. “There’s you kiss.”

“Oi, that’s not fair, darling. That’s like giving lettuce to a fucking dog.” He pouted as he picked up his basket as well.

“Good thing you’re not a dog then.” She grinned at him over her shoulder and he followed her to the cashier.

“You’re mean.”

She shrugged and on his way to the cashier, he picked up a few chocolate bars and caught up with her. Since there were two cashiers, he paid with the other one and waited for Clara to be done. When she was, he handed her the bag with the chocolate bars in it.

“Though you needed some seeing as you’re in your… period.” He whispered at her.

“Oh, you’re a star. I hope you didn’t bought all these chocolate bars for a kiss.”

He rolled her eyes at her as he led the way out of the store. “I did not have any ulterior motives. Just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Well, it was really nice. Thank you, sweet-coffee pot.” She said as she stopped besides Jack.

He stopped walking even thought he was going to continue his path straight to his car and said with a hint of incredulity. “What?”

“Just experimenting with nicknames. I take that ‘what’ as a no.”

He nodded at Jack and then inclined his head towards Clara. “Yeah, glad you don’t need me to voice it.” He walked a few steps closer to his car, when he turned back. “Want a lift?”

“Not really.” She said as she opened a chocolate bar. “Believe me, women on their period need to walk. It hurts less.”

“Well, as the lady wishes.” She waved him away and with a nod, he boarded his car and left.

* * *

 

When he got to his place, the first thing he did was shower and then he shaved. He took longer than what was expected because he was being careful while trying not to nick his skin. If he did that, then the aftershave would hurt like hell.

In the kitchen, he made himself a sandwich, since it was about the only thing he had left; and he realized he had to go grocery shopping as well. He hated grocery shopping. In the years that he had been living by himself, he still didn’t know what to buy and usually ended up buying junk food and ordering takeaway. His sister had jokingly said that his fridge resembled the fridge college students had. He didn’t find that observation funny.

He ate it and laid down on the sofa to watch TV as he ate some crisps he had found. He wanted to sleep, he really did, but now that he was at his place, he just couldn’t. He moved the bag of crisps to the table and fished his phone out of his pocket. He sometimes wore yoga pants to be at his place. He liked them because they were comfortable as fuck.

\-----

_Home already?_

_-M._

\-----

_Yep! I’m in bed; you?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Sofa. Watching the news. Bunch of wankers._

_-M._

\-----

_How are you feeling?_

_-M._

\-----

_Then change the channel, smart-man. I’m feeling okay considering that my insides are turning to mush._

_-Clara_

\-----

_I’m sorry to hear that. Can I help in any way? I’m feeling gracious tonight._

_-M._

\-----

_Tell you what, you’re always doing things for other people (whether it’s your job or not) so I think you should do something for yourself. Go sleep early today, Malcolm; please. To be honest, you looked run down today. I’ve never seen you like that._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Seeing you would fucking help me loads, I think._

_-M._

\-----

_I’m sure it would, but I need to moan and be alone tonight. Go sleep, dear._

_-Clara_

\-----

_I don’t think you’ll be alone. Jack’s there, innit?_

_-M._

\-----

_He moved about a week ago with Marco. He’s your neigbour now. You’ve really been busy to not have noticed that._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Yeah, haven’t been home for more than an hour or so. In fact, today’s the longest I’ll be in here._

_-M._

\-----

_You’re not really going to sleep, are you?_

_-Clara_

\-----

He turned off the TV and left the bag of crisps on the table, he’d clean that tomorrow. He opened the door to the fridge and took out a bottle of water, and then he walked to his bedroom.

His bedroom had the walls painted white and nearly every accessory he had in it was made of a black wood, except the nightstand, that one was just brown wood. He had taken it from the guest’s room because he just was too lazy to buy a replacement for the old one. Plus, it wasn’t like his nonexistent guests would need it.

He laid down on the bed, but not before throwing his yoga pants to the floor and donning on boxers on top of his underwear.

\-----

_Not really. I’m trying to._

_-M._

\-----

_What about the pills?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Are you that eager to get rid of me?_

_-M._

\-----

_Far from it. I’d love to talk with you all night long and you know it. But you need your sleep. Do as you’re told._

_-Clara_

\-----

He decided to call her instead. All this texting was hurting his fingers and he had done a lot of typing these past weeks.

“You don’t know how to follow some simple instructions.” She said as a way of greeting.

He got more comfortable in bed, the blinds were closed, the light was off and the A/C was hardly necessary. He took a while to reply because he was connecting his Blackberry to its charger.

“Right. I don’t like to follow instructions.” He changed positions to lay on his side and threw the covers on top of him. He now resembled a human burrito.

She hummed. “I’m just going to talk to you for a bit because I’m going to sleep afterwards.”

“How much later?”

“Half an hour? I don’t think I’ll last more than fifteen minutes talking with you.”

He groaned and got his pills from his nightstand drawer. “Then I’d try to fall asleep at the same time as you.” He downed the pill with the help of water and resumed his position in bed. “Did you ate the chocolate?”

“Yes, almost all of them. There are still five bars left.”

“Fucking hell, I bought you about 17 bars! Aren’t you sick?”

“Not at all.” She chuckled. “You have to understand that when I’m on my period, there’s no such thing as enough chocolate.”

“I’ll have that in mind.”

They stayed silent, neither not knowing what to say. They had a lot to say, a lot to discuss but the words didn’t come to the surface.

“What have you done these days?” she asked.

Her voice was tired and he almost felt sorry for having her stay up talking to him. Almost.

“Work. Mostly lots of politicking and twisting arms. Confidential; can’t tell you more than what’s already on the news… pretty fucking boring stuff and you?”

“Well, work as well. Then I went to visit my dad with Jack, went out with Amy and then I went with Amy, Rory, Rose, Matt and David to see Jack’s band playing in a pub.”

“You had fun; I’m slightly envious of you.” He sighed. “Ah, the perks of being young. What’s the band’s name?”

“‘Time-agents.’ They all dress in tuxedos, they look fancy. They sing some songs of their own, but they always sing a song or two from a famous band.”

“Hmm… well, when’s the next time they play? I’d like to see them.”

“Uh…wait.” He heard her shuffling around papers and he smiled to himself. “They’ve got a thing in a hotel around here on the 14th.”

“Nice, nice.” He thought about taking her to said thing, but since the 14th was on Saturday, maybe he could convince her tomorrow to spend the weekend with him outside of London. He needed to put more thought into that and see if he could really pull it off. He didn’t want to get her hopes up just yet.

“Yeah, I think so.” She chuckled nervously. It made him realize that perhaps she didn’t keep track of the calendar.

 “You sound a wee bit surprised.”

“I am… I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay, I just found out myself, don’t worry.” He chuckled. “I can sense that you’re sleepy as fuck. You’re just talking with me because I’m a greedy bastard that can’t simply let you go to bed. So, I think we should both call it a night.” He yawned. “We’ll talk about stuff tomorrow, yeah?” He wanted to say more but he held his tongue. He needed to hang up in a good note. “Take care, love. And have a good night, yeah?”

She chuckled and as she replied, he could imagine her tousled hair, the smile she must have at the moment, because he could _hear_ it as she talked to him. “Yeah, we’ll definitely talk tomorrow, mister. Take care as well, Malc.”

He was tempted to say those three words that would most likely change everything. But he didn’t, he swallowed them and locked them away until they were needed because the time was not right. It simply wasn’t.

“Night.”

“Hang up!”

“No, you hang up!”

“Why me?”

“Because women go first.”

“Okay then… night.

“Night.” He responded almost at the same time, causing her to laugh. He wasn’t laughing, but he let out a soft snort, a smile gracing his features.

“Fucking hang up, Clara. We need our fucking sleep.”

“Okay, night…” she said, but she still stayed in line.

He sighed. “Are you fucking serious?”

She giggled. “Okay, night. I’ll miss you. Until tomorrow.” She hung up and he shook his head as he plugged his phone into its charger.

He really was falling hard for this woman, and he really didn’t know how to let her know. He feared fucking it up, as always. He could say that his biggest fear was probably failure. Now that he had admitted that to himself, the ache in his chest instead of receding grew stronger; because not only might he love this woman but he knew that if it wasn’t returned (which he thought was a bit unlikely), he would look like a tit and he would feel worse than one.

* * *

 

The next day was going slower than he thought possible. Was it because he was anxious to see Clara? Or was it because he was paying close attention to his wristwatch? Probably both. Instead of texting her in the morning –like he had thought of doing, he called her. She sounded alright to him and she had told him so, but still, he noticed that something was a bit off. He didn’t know how to explain it. She still was talking to him the same way she always did, but there was an underlying coldness, that’s the only way he knew how to put it.

All day long, his mind was inundated with thoughts of her and what she would say to him. Was she only humouring him for now, then later she would deliver a swift kick to his groin? Was she about to dump him? Or worse, would she be about to set the argument he so hated. The typical, ‘the job or me’ argument. That would be an ultimatum, he knew. He could work with Clara dumping him because he wouldn’t back down, he would just try to conquer her again because he wanted her. He had never wanted someone as much as he wanted her. And it was not only on the physical sense, with her, he felt grounded and he noticed than when he was with her, he tried to be a better person. Not that he always succeeded, but the fact that he was actively trying, let him know that she was indeed the one.

If she dumped him, he would make her know that it was not the end for them because he just knew that she wouldn’t be dumping him for lack of affection or the fact that she didn’t like him anymore, it would be because he didn’t dedicate her enough time.

He would then seek her again when the year was over, when he could dedicate her the time she deserved… But there was always the chance that she would fall in love in that period of time and forget all about him. He would like to say that he would support her in her decision, be happy for her even though he would now be miserable; but that wasn’t the truth. He would do nothing of the sort, but he would not wish her any ill either. He would just try to delete her from his memory. It wouldn’t be the first time he did that.

As he left Number Ten, he received a text from Clara asking him to buy her painkillers. It was no trouble since he had to do some stops. First, he stopped at a Chinese shop and bought takeaway for himself and Clara, then he stopped at another shop to buy the painkillers, chocolate and ice cream. He was trying to compensate for being absent in his roundabout way. He had apologized but he needed to drive his point home because he didn’t think Clara had paid any mind to his apologies.

Was it maybe because she had already been through that? And by ‘that’, he meant men who apologized but didn’t really mean it. It could be a number of variables but that one seemed like the most likely to him. He was still in many aspects like other men (even though he wouldn’t admit that out loud), but when he apologized, he really meant it.

He parked in front of her flat; he was queasy to leave his car out because he knew he would be with her for a long time. He just hoped none of the fucking chavs vandalized his baby. Switching off the engine, he took off his suit jacket and draped it on the back of the passenger’s seat. He then proceeded to take off his tie and put it on the pocket of his suit jacket. Lastly, he rolled up his sleeves and popped open the first three buttons of his dress shirt. Today he had been wearing a grey suit with a red tie and white shirt. It had suited his mood perfectly for the day.

Exhaling air, he got out, closed the door and retrieved his purchases from the passanger’s’seat.

On his way to Clara’s place, she had told him that both doors (the one in the front of the building and hers) were open. So he trudged upstairs without a care in the world, but still, he hesitated when he got to hers. This visit he was now paying her would either work on his favour or it would be break him.

 _Only one way to find out, old man_ , he thought.

The voice he used to think that sentence sounded oddly like Jamie and he smirked to himself.

“Indeed.” He said aloud and turned the knob.

If he gathered enough courage, he could probably open up a little bit more towards Clara and tell her what he had just recently admitted to himself. If not, he could let her know in other ways.

He had to.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments! Now, here's where it gets tricky. Instead of weekly updates, I'll be updating monthly. It'll give me more time to write and mind my own stuff with uni. Have a good one!

As he closed the door behind himself, he held his breath until he turned around. He half expected to find Clara waiting for him, sitting in a chair facing the door with her arms crossed over her chest an angry expression on her face, but he was relieved to not find her in that position. In fact, she was nowhere to be found. Not even in the living room or the kitchen, but he did heard the TV in one of the rooms. Assuming that she was in said room, he knocked.

“Clara! It’s me. Malcolm.”

When Clara heard the knock, she moved slowly out of the bed and unlocked her door. The reason why she had left both doors unlocked was because she really didn’t feel like walking all the way to them to open the doors for Malcolm. She deduced that he had the common sense to lock them behind himself once he was inside. She lived in a troubled neighbourhood, there was some vandalism but she really couldn’t move somewhere else because she couldn’t afford it and she was saving money. For what, she still didn’t have a clear clue.

Despite not being in contact with Malcolm as much as she used to, she couldn’t blame that on him. She knew what she had signed up for when he first told her how was his life and that he was a busy man. She understood perfectly. But there were times, at night, when she really wanted to make sure she had him as a boyfriend. He was being a non-active boyfriend, which was something she really wasn’t interested in. She had toyed with the idea of dumping him and go on their separate ways, but how could she dump him when things just got too hard for her to bear? That was what weak people did and she certainly wasn’t one. But she would tell him what she expected of him. Of course, she couldn’t bang his head on those issues too hard or else he would run away.

In the last weeks, she had felt like his toy. That he only texted her when he was bored… that he texted her to amuse himself. They amused themselves plenty when they texted. She would tell him cheesy pick up lines and would hear him either trying too hard not to laugh or he would express in his colourful vocabulary how awful said pickup line was. But most of the times, he didn’t talk about himself or his job –which was a surprise for her. Initially, he had struck her as the man who would brag about his job or his life, but he was not like that. He was just a simple man.

He had told her that he would like to keep his love life and his work life separated and she had agreed. She had also read to him over the phone (when he called and she was reading), and he would listen carefully. But when something amusing to him was said, or something was described in a curious way, he would make a snarky remark and usually, they had some debates. She would explain, in her fiery and candid way, why she was right and he would calmly tell her why she was not. They rarely agreed on those debates and she realized that none of them were right or wrong. It was simply their way of seeing life. She saw life as beautiful thing, to be treasured and be lived to the extreme –even though she currently was taking a time-out from living life like that; but Malcolm saw life as a pointless thing and that everyone on this planet were just ‘complacent monkeys’. He saw life in an ambitious way, he was hungry for power, but at the same time, he wanted nothing to do with it.

The only thing that kept her always thinking about him was a brief conversation they had through texts. Almost always they continued the texts from the morning before on the next day. She had asked him where he saw himself in 3 or 5 years and he had responded ‘I see myself somewhere beautiful and sunny, i.e. Scotland. Preferably with you by my side.’ It was like getting a punch to her chest every time she read that message. Every time she thought about dumping him and that he didn’t care about her, she would open that message and see how stupid she was for even thinking such things. He did care about her. He was just busy.

She walked back to her bed, not even looking at him and sat on the left side, back against the headboard and her blanket up to her chin. She paused the movie she had been watching and turned to look at Malcolm. He was standing in the doorway, looking around her room and changing his weight from one foot to the other. Finally, his gaze rested on her pale form and he frowned.

“Are you ill?” He said as he walked towards the bed and put his bags on it, taking out the Chinese containers, chocolate bars, ice cream and the painkillers. He offered the later to her.

“No. I just need to lie down for a while.” She answered and nodded towards the items he had set on her bed. “What was that for?”

“Well, I’m hungry and I thought you would be hungry too. The ice cream and chocolate are just… to make your existence bearable.” He picked up the ice cream. “I’m going to put this in freezer.” He said and left.

Clara sighed and threw the covers down to her waist, then leaned over to take the Chinese food and the cutlery. As he fumbled around for words, she had looked him up and down and noticed that he was a bit pudgy –he looked perfectly fine nonetheless. She would ask him about it when he came back but she thought that maybe these past weeks, he had been eating a bit too much takeaway. Not that she cared about a bit of extra weight on him, but she cared about him having a shitty meal every day.

He came back with two glasses of orange juice and walked around her bed to put it in her nightstand beside her. She thanked him with a nod and a smile and he quietly sipped on his glass, not sure where to sit.

“Sit on the bed as well, fool.”

He grunted and sat on the other side but with his feet on the ground, his back to her.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Uh, no, no.” he answered. “Just thinking. This damn suspense is killing me.” He put his glass on the second nightstand that was beside him and turned towards her. “Skip the fucking pleasantries and tell me whatever you’re going to tell me.” He said as he passed her the painkillers.

Despite the harsh words, the way he voiced it, let her know that he wasn’t mad at her or anything of the like. He was merely desperate to know where he stood with her and she damn well would let him know.

“Alright.” She put the food aside and when she noticed he was going to stand, she cleared her throat. “Put your ass on the bed, if you please and take off your shoes.”

He bent to unlace his shoes. “If there’s a bad smell, you’ve only got yourself to blame.” He muttered and when he finished taking them off, he moved them aside and sat with his back against the headboard, hands laced over his crotch, and staring right ahead.

Sitting like that, he reminded her of a boy about to be scolded and he wanted everything done as soon as possible. She would be done soon, she knew, because she actually wasn’t one to keep an argument going for more than ten minutes. Eye contact for an argument wasn’t necessary for her. Most of the times, she preferred it this way. If she wanted to say something that was important to her, looking at the eyes of whomever she had to say those words, more often than not would make her draw back and say nothing.

She turned slightly towards him, her legs crossed under her. “First off, if I were another woman, I would have dumped your ass long ago. The reason I did not was because fortunately for you, I am me and I’m not someone who runs away when things don’t go my way or are too difficult. But-” She saw his hands tighten and his jaw get set as he turned his gaze towards his hands. “But I think I would love to know where we stand as a couple. Because you clearly are not making enough of an effort.”

He opened his mouth to say something, rebuke her statement, but he knew he should at least listen so he swallowed his words even though it pained him to do so.

“Like, you disappeared and I don’t even know why. You tell me nothing, for all I know, you must have a family of your own somewhere else and that’s why you don’t tell me anything.” She sighed and pointed at his hand. “And that ring. I never asked anything about it, but what is it? Is it just a ring or what?”

He closed his eyes and raised his hand to massage the bridge of his nose. “Can I talk now?” he asked quietly.

“By all means.” She said as she swallowed the pill with the help of the orange juice.

He released a sigh and took the ring out of his finger. “It’s not a wedding ring, if you’re wondering. It’s just a fucking ring. It fit there so I fucking put it there.” He put the ring on and continued. “I am glad that you don’t run when things get difficult because this is fucking nothing. This is fucking small fry, Clara. It’ll get worse before it can get better.”

“You give me so much hope for the future.” She said as she turned to pick the food container from her nightstand.

His lip involuntarily curved upward at her sarcasm. “Got to be fucking honest. Here’s where I say ‘I told you so’. I made plans. Well, not concrete plans, anyway. I’m going to resign at the end of the year.”

“What!?” She asked alarmed.

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

“No, no! I didn’t want that, that’s your job. You told me yourself that you couldn’t envision yourself doing something else. What will you be doing then!?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and mentally congratulated himself on manipulating the conversation away from trouble. “I could just give it all up. Lie on the sofa and grow my fingernails really long until I can play my acoustic guitar in the next room without getting up.”

Too bad Clara knew his tactics and grinned triumphantly at him. The spark in her eyes was not one of happiness, but it was one of brewing anger. He recognized it instantly and his brain went off like a car alarm screeching ‘Oh shit’ in the middle of the night.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

 _I am actually very smart._ He did not say it aloud though. He knew when to stay quiet.

“Well, let me tell you, Malcolm fucking Tucker, that you’re a fucking idiot! How dare you try to manipulate me away from the important issue at hand with your shit!? How dare you!?”

He couldn’t move, not even if he wanted to. He knew better than to run away from angry women. He spread his hands in surrender. “Sorry.” She gave him and disbelieving look. “I really am! It’s just something I do without thinking about it!” he didn’t lie on that one. He only realized what he had done right after her outburst at the news he had given her about his impending resignation.

“Well, do not think about it, or think at all!” She passed a hand tiredly over her face and looked at him, only to find his sharp blue eyes already assessing her. “I haven’t been this angry since Linda kicked me out.” She did some breathing exercises to calm down and he reached towards her with a hand, just laying it palm face-up on the bed. She put her hand on top and interlaced their fingers.

“I want to hate you for leaving me alone those weeks and not being more in contact but I really can’t. I don’t think I will be able to do so, ever. I think it’s… because I sort of understand you.” She said.

“You understand me better than the rest of the people I know.” He said quietly. “If I could spend more time with you, I would, believe me, please. I wouldn’t fucking hesitate to do so. But I also don’t want to monopolize your schedule. I want you to enjoy in life whatever young people are enjoying.”

She chuckled sadly. “I’m not twenty anymore. I no longer want to do young people stuff. I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime. I would very much like to spend more time with you but you don’t know how to spend time with me.”

“My schedule…” he began but she stopped him.

“That’s it! Maybe you could make spaces for us to see each other and write them up as meetings in your schedule.”

The idea had merit; he had to admit that much. He started nodding slowly as he thought about it. “That’s good, I think.”

“You could also pass by here once you get out of work.”

“What if I’m out later than usual? Say, 10:00?”

“You come here and leave at midnight. Or if you ever want to stay in… well…” she shrugged with a coy smile on her face.

“We’ll talk about it further when that happens.” He said and looked down at her hands that were clutching his. He would never get tired of that. Feeling her hands clutching his own, trapping it between hers and feeling the warmth that emanated from them made him feel as if he was real. As if he wasn’t merely a puppet from the government but a human being who had dreams and stuff he wanted to do and accomplish in life. He had forgotten long ago what those things were, simply because he didn’t have the time, but now he knew what those things were and they could only be achieved if Clara was by his side.

“Okay, I think we’re okay now. Back on the clear.” She said and interrupted his thoughts. He veered his attention towards her. “But I just want you to know that I don’t need you, at all. But I want you, Malcolm. I really want you and I’d like to think that you will take this as a warning and try to put a bit more effort into us, yes?”

Felling bold, he said. “Well, I _need_ you and I _want_ you, but I’m not about to beg for you to come back if you leave me. No matter how much I may love you. But yeah, I am going to put some effort. You could also drop by my place unannounced. There’s a key under the ‘Welcome’ carpet in front of the door.”

Despite all that he had said, Clara’s mind only picked up one sentence, ‘No matter how much I may love you.’ _Oh, bollocks._ She stood from the bed with her phone in hand and made her way to the bathroom. “I’ll have that in mind; I’m just going to the bathroom. Thanks!”

Malcolm watched her go with a frown on his face and crossed his legs at the ankle as he retrieved his dinner from the nightstand. He started eating as he waited for her, but quite too soon realized what might have sent her to the bathroom in such haste.

 _I fucking said I loved her and now she’s fucking trying to distance herself as soon as possible._ He leaned back and hit the back of his head repeatedly against the headboard.

Meanwhile, Clara was having a talk with Rory because Amy was away with some of her other friends. Rory instead, was in his break at work. She actually was thankful that Amy didn’t pick up her phone because the girl was as reasonable as a stale biscuit but Rory, was the more reasonable of the two of them.

“… so what I just said to you, he said it to me. Oh god, Rory, what does it mean!?”

“Well, uh… to be honest, it could mean that he loves you now or that there’s the possibility he might love you later on… but the important thing is that the thought has crossed his mind and he has thought about it.”

Clara gnawed on her fingernail. “Oh, boy.”

“Is that a bad ‘oh, boy’?”

“No, no… it’s just-”

“Do you love him or think you might?”

“I think I might be a bit in love with him.”

“Then have no fear. Everything will right itself up. But you probably might want to hang up and go back to him. He must be wondering what he said to make you run out on him like that. He must be beating himself up about it.”

She gulped and nodded. “Okay, Rory and thanks for your help. I don’t know what I would do without you and Amy.”

“You would be looking up the answer on yahoo answers, maybe.”

She chuckled. “Shut up. I’ll see you later.” She hung up and clutched her phone to her chest.

Now that she had the answers she sought, she could now go back to him and do something with the information she now had, but how to use it? She had never been an ace in that, she pretty much preferred the direct approach when it came to matters of love but she found that she was afraid of being direct, just in case she was reading too much into that.

As she paddled softly to her bedroom, with a bit of trepidation on her steps, Malcolm had the back of his head resting against the headboard, his eyes tightly closed. She thought that maybe he was trying to sleep, but the drumming of his fingers on his thigh let her know that that was not the case.

Malcolm felt someone looking at him and he opened his eyes slowly to look at her. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She lied and walked back to her side of the bed and Malcolm looked down at his food and kept eating slowly.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say, which was a miracle because he always knew what to say.

“You know,” he began. “Don’t you sometimes get the feeling that you might have fucked up?”

Clara took a sip of her glass and nodded. “Yes, all the time, actually.”

“Have I fucked up in any way?”

“What do you mean?” She looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

He huffed in exasperation. “Don’t fucking play dumb with me, Clara. You know what I mean. I said the ‘L’ fucking word and you ran faster than a bulimic to the bathroom. Not to throw up, I hope.”

“Ah.”

“Ah.” He imitated her. “So what you got to say about that?”

“I was actually asking for advice.” At his raised eyebrows, she blushed and looked down at her hands. She always asked for advice or opinions when she wasn’t sure of something. It was something she simply always did because she wanted to make sure she always made the right decision. Of course, most of the times she ignored those advices.

“And?” he prodded and turned his attention once again to his food.

“Do you mean that now or that you might?”

“I mean it now.” He said around a bite of chow Mein but what she understood was ‘I mew wit now’.

“Swallow your food and say it again because I didn’t understand what you said.”

He gulped and turned towards her. “I said… that I mean it now. I don’t know how much exactly, but enough to keep me coming back to you. Because if I didn’t, trust me, I wouldn’t even bother being here.”

 She tried to get control of her face by stuffing her mouth with the Chinese food Malcolm had brought but she wasn’t thinking about anything, she was just too hyperaware of the man next to her and blushing so hard was causing her a headache. Malcolm touched the tip of her ear.

“Nice, your ears turns red when you blush. Along with your cheeks, and I just noticed… your neck and chest as well.” He commented. Because he was still taller than her, even sitting, he had a somewhat clear view of her cleavage. She was a wearing a jumper with a V-neck and he had the sudden urge to see where her blush stopped. He wanted to follow its path, but now was not the time and besides, Clara was in no position to be up to that.

“Stop it.” She slapped his hand away. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that but I’m still mad at you, you know.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” He invaded her personal space and kissed her cheek. “Now, what were you watching?”

“A movie.” She answered and they kept eating. She was paying attention to the movie but he was paying more attention to his food and too her. Maybe he thought he was being sneaky with the brief glances he was giving her, but he was not. She found it endearing that someone who usually was a bit of a bastard, was now sitting beside her, eating takeaway, wearing his job attire and sneaking glances at her. She found him extremely desirable like that, even more so than usual.

When he finished and put the empty container on the floor, she said. “Great, now you can stop looking at me and watch the movie.”

“I was watching the movie.” He said.

She was going to ask him to give him a chocolate bar, which he had moved to the nightstand beside him while he waited for Clara, but he beat her up to it. Simply picking two of them up and passing her one. “I was going to ask you for one.”

“Really? That’s some weird shit because I was just thinking, ‘let me give her one so she shuts the fuck up about the movie and let me live’,”

She gaped at him and poked him hard on his ribs. “You’re an idiot.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “I actually don’t give three fucks about the movie. I’d rather look at you.”

She started munching on her chocolate bar and said nothing. Tired of being close and yet so far away, he settled more comfortably on the bed. He was not sitting anymore, but lying on it, the pillows he had used were no propped up behind his head so he could watch the movie as well without sitting, one foot propped up on the bed. “Must you always wait for an invitation to sit close to me?”

She looked down at him and smirked. “Why, Malcolm, are you a closeted lover of cuddles?”

“Only if they’re with you. Now come here.” He patted the empty space besides him, but she surprised him by laying her head on his stomach and now she lay horizontally.  He had a clear view of the shape of her back, bum and legs even though most of her lower body was covered by a blanket, and he threaded his fingers through her hair. “Big butt. Bigger heart.”

She chuckled. “What?”

“Steve Carrell. He says that in ‘The Office’. It was not a funny show… at all. But it had its moments. It applies to you.”

“My butt is not that big.”

“Mhm, keep being modest, love.”

“Shh, I’m trying to see the movie.”

He kept silence and as his eyes landed on the TV, he saw Hugh Grant and Colin Firth fighting. He groaned and tugged softly at her hair.

“Are you trying to fucking torture me?”

“Me? No. I just love that movie.”

“I take it you’re obsessed with that fucker.” He said with a hint of jealousy.

“Are you jealous?” she asked as she made patterns with her finger on his thigh.

“Might fucking be.”

“But he’s an actor, it’s not like I will ever meet him.”

“You never know. You can always find that fucker waltzing down the streets of London, sometimes even somewhere in Westminster. Maybe even at Selfridges. As I told you, I met him once, you could get the chance to meet him as well and what would you do then? Forget all about me and drool over his manicured hands and dyed hair?”

“Oh, _please_.” She scoffed. “I wouldn’t do that because one, I admire him as an actor and two, I like you better.”

“Good because I’m fucking better looking than him. I could beat the living shit out of Colin Firth. I mean, look at him.” He pointed at the screen. “He doesn’t know how to fight. I fight like a prayer mantis and hit like a taser gun.”

She started laughing and wrapped her left arm around his waist. It was an uncomfortable position because that meant that her right arm was trapped between him and her, but she didn’t mind that much.

The fact that he made her laugh with his stupid shit, made him happy beyond belief. Women his age or a couple of years younger tended to laugh out of politeness but Clara’s laugh was genuine and it meant everything to him. He would try to make her laugh as often as he could because that was the sound of her happiness, a kind of happiness that she couldn’t keep locked inside her tinny body and thus, he treasured it.

“That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, oh my god.” Her laugh receded into a chuckle. “Thanks for making me laugh, really.”

“That’s going to be my mission from now on.”

“But really, don’t fight Colin Firth. He’s a sweet cool guy.”

“A swearing match then? Either way, I win.” He said as he continued threading his fingers through her hair. “Have you seen him in ‘The King’s Speech’? Looks like he had never said the word ‘fuck’.”

She rolled her eyes at him even though he couldn’t see her. “He was playing a character who might I add, was real.”

“Stuttering motherfucker.”

“Hey, now, don’t be mean. People who have that condition can’t really control that. I used to find it annoying when I was a kid but that’s because I was a bit ignorant. Now I know they can’t help it.”

He shrugged. “It’s more annoying than a fucking lisp.”

“Are you going to shut up anytime soon?”

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. He was acting like a child who needed constant attention, and he probably did.

“Right now, not so much.”

He released a sigh and subjected himself to watch the movie instead. “Right then.”

Along the movie, he had asked her to move to his side so he could settle more comfortably against her pillows but instead of watching the movie, he took a nap. As she curved herself around him, laying her head on his chest, she didn’t notice he was sleeping until she heard his quiet snores. She moved her head from his chest and was about to shake him awake, but the tired look he wore on his face made her stop.

He had his lips slightly open, and his head was lolling to the side. His right hand was resting on his waist and he had his other arm wrapped around her. His hair was the same as it had been, but it had grew up a bit because it was already curling up around the edges, which was alluring since she didn’t know he had curly hair. She now longed to see him with longer hair and see how his hair really was, but she doubted she would see that anytime soon.

What broke her heart was that even though he was sleeping, his eyes were restless, moving side to side as if he were dreaming (which he probably was), and he had a frown in place. She moved his arm to his stomach and just watched him sleep. Sometime late, he moved his head a bit, in search of something, and ended up turning it towards her. His eyes opened slowly as he licked his dried lips, his frown leaving his face when he saw her face.

“Hey.” She whispered.

“Hey.” He cleared his throat. “What hour is it?”

“Uh.” She moved away from him to pick her phone. “8:40. Not too late, why?”

“I was just asking. Thought it was a wee bit late.” He yawned and when she looked at him with a cheeky smile on her face, he raised an eyebrow at her. “What?”

She passed a hand through his hair as she hovered over him. “What had you all frowny-face?”

“Mmm, what?”

“You were frowning when you were sleeping.”

He scoffed. “I was napping.”

“Whatever you say, but you were frowning. What were you thinking?”

“About you.” He smirked.

“And thinking about me causes you to frown?” she asked as she settled beside him with a grimace and started rubbing her stomach. She hated with all her might being on her period. One moment she was fine –thanks to the pill, and when the effect started wearing off; it was like having a fork inside her, tearing her uterus apart.

“Yeah. You give me a fucking headache.” He noticed her rubbing her stomach and sat. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just some cramps, it’s nothing.”

She laid down, looking at the ceiling and started inhaling and exhaling. “I will get you more juice so you can chug down another pill. Maybe I can draw you a bath, if you wish.”

“No, not today. I don’t fancy swimming in my own blood.”

“Oh, not on your own blood but someone else’s, is that what you’re implying?” he teased as he got out of the bed.

“Just bring me the damn juice.”

“Watch your fucking language.” He said with a smile and left her room.

Despite her mild pain, she still cracked up at smile at that. Most of the times they were bickering or enjoying each other’s company. What she liked about him was that even though sometimes all they did was talk, he did not ever asked for a kiss or anything. Not that she would mind, but she had noticed that he was simply content with being in contact with her and that appeared to be enough for him if she wasn’t up to the kissing task. He just held her, touched her hand or combed her hair with his fingers; he seemed to value that kind of physical contact more than the kissing. In one of their late night conversations, he had expressed as much. He had said that ‘kissing was nice, but being close to her was nicer’. She often laughed internally at the things he said or did, because he clearly wasn’t a romantic man, but then he said things like that and she would reevaluate her statement.

He came back with her orange juice, but he also was carrying two other cups with ice cream on them. Yep, he was a closeted-romantic, or maybe a very caring person. She felt slightly bad knowing that the world did not know this side of him and they judged him like the bastard he appeared to be, but she was also glad that this side of him was being seen by her and those he cared about –the people who truly mattered to him.

“Well, I’m glad to see I now appear to have a doctor taking care of me.” She said as she glanced at him.

“For now. Don’t get used to it.”

She sat up and accepted both things, then downed the pill. “You taking care of me is only for special occasions?”

He sat beside her with his legs crossed at the ankle. “Yeah, when you’re sick and when you’re not.”

“Aw.” She leaned over him and kissed his cheek as he brought a spoonful of ice cream to his lips. “You really are a gem.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling everyone but they don’t listen.” He turned his head to grin at her but she leaned forwards again and kissed his lips. It was a peck, but to him, it felt as if the world had stopped for a bit, as it always did when she kissed him.

“Thank you for being here today.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” He deadpanned. At her scowl, he chuckled. “Fucking joking, dear.”

“You better be or I’ll stab you with this spoon.” She licked it clean and showed it to him.

“Is that a promise?” he dipped his spoon in the ice-cream as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t test me because you don’t want to find out.”

“Fair enough.”

“And also thank you for staying here for being longer than what was expected.”

“You say it as if you expected me to fucking leave after you told me I was in the clear.”

“Well, that is what Dan-” she stopped herself from saying his name and smiled at him. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. What were you going to say? That that’s what Daniel would have done? Tell you fucking what; I’m not like that prick. I could have left because I have some things to do at home, but I wanted to stay with you because...” he started drumming his thigh again and that was an indicator that let her know that he was nervous.

“You missed me?” she said tentatively, a smile gracing her features.

His fingers stopped the drumming on his thighs and his eyes sparked with a hint of mischief. “No; it was because I wanted to procrastinate cleaning my flat which resembles a fucking dumpster right now. If it’s used as a set for a movie and Sean Bean is the protagonist, I’ll bet he’ll die among my clothes. They’ll grow fucking fangs and claws and puncture his fucking lungs.”

“So you missed me.” She said again.

“Of course. I needed to see you and be with you.” He shrugged. “Normal couple stuff.”

That was not entirely what he was going to say. He did miss her; that much was true. But it was easier to say that he missed her when he couldn’t bring himself to say that he loved her, because he really did. Back when he hadn’t seen her, he only admitted that to himself and thought that maybe his mind was playing him like a puppet. But being here with her, seeing her smile, hearing her voice and just plain seeing her, let him cement his feelings towards her.

He loved her and he was scared.

Even though years had passed since Clementine, he still had some doubts about women. The problem with him was that he simply fell too fast for women when they sparked more than his sexual curiosity. He couldn’t help it; and with it came the fear of not simply being rejected –he could handle rejection quite well, but the fear of letting things take their path, get more involved and then being unceremoniously dumped like fucking trash.

He had said the words, he knew, but it was not the same as saying ‘I love you’ upfront.

 He didn’t notice he had stayed silent after he said that and was just plain glaring at his ice cream as he took apart the cookies from it and ate them.

She nudged him and tried to hide her concern from her face. “Alright?”

“Alright. Just thinking about what’s probably going to be the next fuck up.” He took out his phone to see the hour and was surprised to see that it was almost eleven. He excused himself, went to pee and then came back. “How about you get a shower and come back here?”

She finished her ice cream and got out of bed. “Okay, but don’t go!” she took some of her clothes from her drawers, and left to get showered.

As she showered, he took a plastic bag from her kitchen and set up to clean her room a bit of the mess they made. There was the Chinese food, the chocolate bars wrappers, which were just two. He was actually surprised she hadn’t eaten them all when he fell asleep. He organized the remaining bars on the nightstand and took all the cups to the kitchen where he cleaned them and put them aside.

Seeing she was taking too long, he walked to her living room and snooped a bit on her shelves. In there, he spotted a few albums, but refused to snoop further. Those were her things, personal things, most likely contained pictures and whatnot and he didn’t want to see any more of it without her permission.

The fact that he was granting her such a thing as her privacy humoured him quite a bit. He didn’t have many qualms about helping Jamie snoop on Julius’ or Fat Pat’s things. True, all he did was check that no one came when Jamie was doing the dirty job but he was an accomplice all the same. They also sometimes planted information, just for the giggles of it. Some bad photoshopped pictures of Fat Pat sucking off Julius, or that time they changed all of Julius’ pictures to pictures of Hitler and Stalin. They had a good laugh about that –except Julius, he was furious.

Clara came out of the shower, dressed and feeling a bit new and went to her room. Upon not seeing him, she walked to her living room as she adjusted the sash on her blue nightgown. There, she found Malcolm caressing the spines of the albums she had. It was noticeable when he felt that he was not alone anymore by the way his shoulders tensed up, but then he turned around to face her with a hesitant smile and offered her his hand. She took it and he patted the albums with his free hand.

“So, what are these albums about?”

“Oh, they’re about my travels. Want to see?”

He thought about it and first, he wanted to say that he didn’t want to see them. But his curiosity was killing him; he wanted to see how her ex looked like.

“Of fucking course.” He released her hand and she picked up three albums and sat on the sofa.

She crossed her arms over her chest as she thought about what she was going to say. “Hmm, could you perhaps sit horizontally?”

He did just that and put his other leg on the floor. “Come on, sit between my legs.” He patted his crotch and she shook her head with a smile.

“You know what I mean, idiot.”

“Come on, sit. I don’t have all fucking night.”

Malcolm slouched a little on the sofa and she sat between his legs. He then propped on of his arms along the edge of the back of the sofa as she rested the back of her head on his shoulder and opened the first album.

It mostly consisted of landscapes and buildings, foods, and things like that. They were nice pictures and when he asked who had taken them, she said that it had been Daniel. The guy was a good photographer; he had to admit that much.

The second album consisted of more of the same, with the occasional picture of other people, neither of them were Clara or Daniel.

And in the third, it was a mix of the other two, and there, he found a couple of pictures of Clara but she always appeared with Daniel and someone else was always taking the picture for them. He knew it was illogical to feel jealousy at seeing the arms of that other man wrapped around Clara. But she looked so happy with that guy... did she even looked that happy when she was with him?

“I can almost tell what you’re thinking and relax. I’m not going back to him. I like it where I am pretty much.” She said.

He merely grunted and passed the page. There weren’t any pictures of Clara alone; she always appeared with him and a third person was always taking the picture. That struck him as odd and he decided to express that.

“He’s a good photographer.” He grudgingly admitted. “But if I were a fucking photographer, this album would just be filled with pictures of you.”

“Well, he told me he always took pictures of the things he liked or loved...”

“And yet, he never took a picture of you.” He said quietly.

She sighed and closed the book as she reclined against him and he turned his head slightly to kiss her temple. “Yeah, he never took a picture of me. That twat.”

With a bit of a struggle with his trousers, he took out his Iphone and put it on camera mode. He wanted to capture a picture of Clara, to save it and always have it with him, just like he did with the others she had sent him what seemed like ages ago.

“Smile!”

“What, no! I look like shit!”

She tried to move her hands to shield her face but it was a half-assed attempt and they both knew it. Nevertheless, he took both of her hands with his free hand, held them down and she hid her face on the crook of his neck.

When he took the picture, all that was visible were the top of his nose and his lips curled in a smirk, his neck and his shoulder, and her body from her chest to the top of her head, her smile hidden away on his neck but it was still visible.

“Let me see, I need to know I looked alright.”

He held the phone away from her. “Nope, you look fucking beautiful, as always.”

“Then let me see.” She insisted. At the shake of his head she sighed and he released her hands, then she crossed them over her chest in an attempt to look bummed out. It had the effect she was looking for because he huffed and muttered something she didn’t quite catch then gave her his phone.

The picture looked pretty cute and they looked so happy. She just stared at the picture because even though she knew that had happened, it was something else seeing it in a picture. Her eyes watered a bit and she blinked and passed the sleeve of her nightgown over her eyes and a sniff escaped her.

“Oh fuck. Clara, it doesn’t look bad. I can delete it if it caused you that much distress, really. Don’t fucking cry about that.” He said as he reached for his phone and she gave it to him.

“Don’t delete it, I like it. You should send it to me later it’s just...” she sniffed and he turned his head to look at her, which meant that he now had a double chin but she didn’t care. He looked so precious to her, with his potty mouth and his eyes full of concern and confusion for her unexpected outburst. “It feels so nice to have captured that moment, you know? Do you ever just realise that in a while all of us –everything, will be gone? And that no one will know or care about us and what we’ve done?”

He blinked slowly and mulled her questions over. If there was something he liked about her (even though he sometimes hated it when he was particularly tired), was when she got all philosophic or made those kind of stupid and not so stupid questions that he never asked himself. For example, the question she made was obvious and dare he say it, stupid. But he had never sat and thought about that, except for now.

“I just realised it now, thanks to you. In about a hundred years everything will be different, Clara. Other people will be living on this Earth, maybe robots will walk around the streets, killing anybody who’s out past fucking curfew. Maybe you could even download a fucking pizza with the help of a bloody printer.” He shrugged and she turned so she was curled in front of him.

“Makes everything look so unimportant and stupid, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm, we’ll have to agree to disagree... and I’m surprising myself here because I’m usually the negative one, but I think that in a way, it makes everything more meaningful.”

“How?”

“Well, for instance... would someone love as strongly as they do now if they knew they had an infinite amount of time here on Earth? My answer is that they would not. They would be fucking promiscuous. We love as strongly as we do because we know how short life is. How little we have left to live. That love is not always from one person to another, it exists in different ways. A love for adventure-”

“A love for work.” She said, hinting to his love/hate relationship with his work.

“A love for you.” He whispered and wrapped his arms around her as he kissed the top of her head. “Wow, you might want to write that bit down. Sounds like something Channing Tatum would say in a romantic movie. I think I left my bollocks at home and carried with me a huge dose of estrogens.”

“Now you ruined it with that bit. I think it’s safe to say that I have a love for you as well and you know it.”

“That you love me?”

She nodded against his chest. “I think I do.”

“Well, think about it long and hard and tell me when you’re sure because that would change many things... that is, if you want them to change.”

“What would it change?” she asked as she stood to put the albums back on their place and came back to sit on the sofa, this time in front of him with her knees drawn up to her chest.

“Stuff, things.” He shrugged and grinned at her.

“You’re insufferable.” A smile was present on her face and his eyes drank on the sight thirstily. They were darting around her face, trying to commit the image to his mind.

“Hey, that’s one of my fucking lines.” He retorted.

He had said that to her many times so it was good to throw the words back at his face. “Yes, but with less swearing.”

He glanced at his watch and stood. “Got to go.” She stood to see him out but he stopped her by putting his hands on each of her shoulders. “I’ll see myself out, yeah? You go sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

She chewed on her lower lip as she nodded and he couldn’t resist. He cupped her face and leaned down for a kiss. She raised herself on the tip of her toes and deepened the kiss as she gained leverage by pulling herself up with her hands on his shoulders.

It was the second kiss they shared that day and he couldn’t believe how long he had been waiting for it. His mind felt empty for a moment but too soon, they had to break it to get some much needed air on their lungs. This time, he was the last to open his eyes, his lips were slightly parted and he was certain he looked high as fuck. Her kisses were his drug and he was like a junkie who would do anything to get them.

She knew that for him to go now she couldn’t kiss him on the mouth again, so she pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek and pushed him in the direction of the door.

“Off you go.”

He nodded towards her bedroom. “Off you go as well. I won’t fucking go until you’re safely locked inside your bedroom.” He crossed his arms over his chest and she gave him a look that clearly said ‘seriously?’ and he nodded. “Yep, go.”

She gave him the middle finger and slowly sauntered to her bedroom and before closing the door, she gave him one last look and mouthed ‘I love you’ to him and closed the door quickly.

He lowered his arms and put his hands on his hips, then looked down at his shoes. He should feel ecstatic, in fact, he felt like that. But apart from the happiness he was feeling, he also felt something he could categorize as worry.

Now that she had said those words to him, he worried that he would not live up to her expectations, and that she would fall out of love with him.

_Just like Clementine._

_She’s_ not _like her!_

And she really wasn’t. What they had in common was him and that he had once loved one of them deeply and she had fucking run out on him. But his Clara was not like that, he knew that much. She sounded too sincere when she said it and Clementine never sounded sincere.

Yes, he was still bitter about the situation. He could hold a grudge for years. In fact, he was certain that if he saw her crossing the street on fire in the dead of night, he wouldn’t even piss on her to save her; he would probably run her over with his car twice.

But his car didn’t deserve such treatment.

He went for the door and closed it, making sure it was locked; he then trudged downstairs to close the other one. He did the same and left for his home, he was really tired and really happy at the same time. He honestly didn’t know how those two emotions could coexist. But he knew for sure that tonight he would dream of Clara.

* * *

 

The next morning, instead of texting Clara first as he used to do, he received a text from Clara instead. He was just opening his eyes when the text came in at 6:30 and he fumbled blindly for it to open it.

\-----

_Picture. Now._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Not even a fucking good morning? Were you fucking raised by wolves?_

_-M._

\-----

_So much cursing in the early hours of the morning? Oh, boy. Let me remedy that and talk your language then._

_Good morning, Malc. Send me the fucking picture. :-*_

_Is that alright?_

_-Clara_

\-----

He chuckled as he read the text and rubbed his eyes as he slowly typed with his right hand.

\-----

_Hmm. That was nearly on point. What does ‘:-*’ mean? Is it another bloody emoticon?_

_And good morning to you as well, my Clara._

_-M._

\-----

He sent the picture after that message and went to the bathroom to do his morning abolitions and then came back to his room to find another text.

\-----

_Ohhh! Even though I can’t see your whole face, I love how you look here! That neck.... Anyways, ‘:-*’ it’s a kissy-face._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Why don’t you just write ‘Mwuah’?_

_-M._

\-----

_Is that how you oldies do it? Joking! Okay, its a ‘mwuah’ for you then._

_-Clara_

\-----

_Thank you. It would be better in person but oh well, c’est la vie._

_-M._

\-----

_Exactly. Also, I forgot to thank you for cleaning everything yesterday and even doing the dishes I had left there. I also immensely enjoyed your company._

_-Clara_

\-----

_As did I and about the dishes, it was nothing. I didn’t even notice I was cleaning those you had left there. Think of it as ‘accidental cleaning’. What are you doing after work?_

_-M._

\-----

_I still don’t know... What are you doing after work?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Dunno but I think I will go to play tennis with Carl. (I think.) He hasn’t called to say we’re going to do that though._

_-M._

\-----

_That’s great! I think you should go. It’ll do you good._

_Also, remember to quit smoking. IT’S FOR YOUR HEALTH –AND FOR YOUR BREATH/SMELL._

_-Clara_

\-----

_That’s my trademark man-musk!_

_-M._

\-----

_Well, the season of smelling like ashes is long past. Just do an effort, yes? Gotta go, love you._

_-Clara_

\-----

Even they had sort of said that to each other, seeing it written did weird things to him. For example, it made him smile so hard his cheeks started to ache.

\-----

_Love you too._

_-M xx_

\-----

He left for the kitchen to make himself some breakfast and while his sandwich was getting toasted, he retrieved his laptop from his bedroom and set it up on the kitchen island as he waited for the smell of melted cheese to reach his nostrils.

He google’d what he had only google’d once.

Houses on sale.

But now, he had an specific house in mind. He’d like a bathroom that had a shower and a bathtub. It had to be a really big bathroom and effectively, the house would be more costly. He was actually looking for something like that because he had Clara in mind. When she was on those awful days of the month, he could draw a bath for her and maybe she could clean herself up in the shower and hop in the bathtub. He really didn’t know how the menstruation in women worked, his understatement of it was pretty basic, but if that couldn’t be done, they still could have fun in the bathtub.

And no, he wasn’t thinking about sex. Who the fuck has sex in a bathtub? Fucking no one. No, he was thinking about spending quality time with her. Rub her back and shoulders, massage her feet, and braid her hair or some shit; something like that.

When the smell of cheese reached him, he got up and put it on a plate and took a Fanta from the fridge and set to eat as he browsed the nets for such a house. If he couldn’t find it, there was no problem at all. He would hire someone to build the damn thing, but he would give her that.

* * *

 

“You seem to look... different, Malcolm.” Said Sam as a way of greeting as he came out of his 8:30 meetings.

He thought he looked the same, why would he look any different?

He frowned, but a small smile was present on his face. “Whatever do you mean? I’m fine.”

She smiled at him knowingly and shrugged noncommittally. “If you say so, boss. Anyways, here are some papers I need you to sign and Ollie just called to request your assistance at DoSAC.”

He took the folder from her and put it on top of all the others he had. “Did the fucker said why?”

“Nope. Just said that you should go ‘round there.”

“Wow, that’s so fucking helpful.” He nodded at her. “Well, if that’s all, I’m leaving to check this shit and then go over there. Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem!”

In his office, he sat down and started reading the papers Sam had given him and started humming some songs as he read. His mind was not fully on the task, but it didn’t even need to be fully on it to grasp the concept of what the papers said. What he loathed about the paperwork of the government was that every fucking paper that made its way to his desk was a play of words. Things that could be explained in simpler terms, but no, everyone here had to show off that they went to university and the only way it could truly be shown was by the fuck-twattery they wrote.

It had taken some getting used to initially but now he could practically delete all the wank of words and replace it with something he vaguely liked and done.

Jamie came to his office later on to give him a doughnut and then sat himself in front of Malcolm’s desk.

Rarely anything got past Jamie. Malcolm would even say that he had a radar for when things changed, and the fact that he was just rudely staring at Malcolm, let him know that Jamie had picked up on something.

“I already thanked you for the fucking doughnut, what do you want me to do?” asked Malcolm as he raised his head from the papers.

Jamie simply reclined back with a smirk, his hands interlaced across his stomach. “Me? Nothing. Just want to talk a bit.”

“That’s something.” Malcolm said and returned back to his reading but since he knew that Jamie wanted to talk about Clara, he couldn’t keep himself from smiling ever so slightly. The woman was a liability for him. She was dangerous to think about at work.

“It is. So what the fuck is it with all the smiling? You have been smiling all fucking morning. Everyone’s talking about it. I was concerned because I thought you were going crazy but then I remembered sweet little Clara. So, is she the reason that has you smiling like a fucking buffoon?”

There was no need to deny it now that Jamie knew. Malcolm nodded. “Things are going alright.”

“More than alright, I bet.” Jamie gave him a suggestive look and Malcolm scowled at him.

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. I just hope you don’t go soft once you two start fucking. We’ve got government workers to keep on their toes.”

Translation: ‘Don’t let her consume your thoughts and deviate you from work’. That was Jamie’s subtext disguised as their usual banter. Malcolm had been telling himself that a lot, but today he had failed. He had smiled more than usual when there was nothing work-related to smile about.

He nodded in understanding. “Of course we do.”

Satisfied with the answer, Jamie stood. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy about that in my own way, but I also worry about you.”

“There’s no reason to.”

“Yes, well, you always watch my back; I’m just trying to return the favour.”

“Much appreciated...” he said as he returned to work, but then he stopped and turned to Jamie as said man neared the door to get out. “Need I remind you that I’m a fucking grown ass man?”

“Pfft, as if being one excludes you from making fucking mistakes the size of Fat Pat’s ulcers.”

Malcolm gave him the middle finger and Jamie chuckled. “Stick it up your ass.” He then left.

* * *

 

Once at DoSAC, he went directly to what they had determined as the staff room. Truth to be told, it was just an office with a coffee machine, a tea kettle and packs of foam cups. As he waited for the coffee he was currently waiting for, his Iphone vibrated. He looked around and seeing no one nearby, he took his phone and saw that it was just a text from Clara.

\-----

_I’m on break. Are you on yours? If so, would you like coffee?_

_-Clara_

\-----

He sighed and prepared his coffee, then took a picture of the black substance and sent it to her.

\-----

_This is the shit I’m having right now. So that’s a no._

_-M._

\-----

_Looks awful and... bland._

_-Clara_

\-----

_You should fucking taste it. I wouldn’t even make my worst enemy drink this. But it’ll keep me on my toes. Thanks for the offer though. Much appreciated._

_-M._

\-----

_No problem. Did you call your friend for tennis?_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Not really._

_-M._

\-----

He took a sip of his coffee and made his way to the door.

\-----

_I really wanted to see you in shorts and a sleeveless shirt, all sweaty and with knee-high socks. \_

_-Clara_

\-----

He smiled down at his text and didn’t saw Ollie until he walked straight into him. Somehow, he avoided his coffee from spilling on his shoes and suit.

Still with a smile in face, he said. “Don’t worry. You’re lucky I’m not in the mood to skin you, Potter.” He said and walked past him to the meeting’s room, unmindful of the incredulous look Ollie was giving him.

Ollie couldn’t believe his ears, yes, Malcolm had sort of threatened him but that was tame compared with what he usually would have done. He walked towards Glenn who was typing slowly away on the keyboard as if it were an old typewriter.

“Okay, this is weird. I accidentally spilled Malcolm’s coffee, well not exactly, he walked into me... anyways, he said something like ‘don’t worry, you’re lucky it didn’t happen’ or something and kept on walking... You know Malcolm-” he said as he nodded in the direction Malcolm had gone. “and that’s a bit tame for him.”

Glenn removed his glasses and frowned at Ollie. “Well, I once stepped on his shoe and he almost bit my head off. Some of his spittle even made its way to my face. Right... Oh God, maybe he’s ill.”

Ollie laughed as he rocked on the ball of his feet with his hands in his pockets and gave a small shrug. “Good riddance I say, if it’s terminal.”

Malcolm had left the door open for them to come on and talk whatever the fuck they were going to talk about. He had sat on the head of the table and put his trademark stacks of folders in front of him, then took out his work-journal to make notes, but no one came into the room and he was starting to lose his patience.

He could either get up and gather them all or he could simply... yell. Yes, the second option was better. It let them know who was in charge.

“Oi! Get the fuck in here whoever’s got to be here! I’m a pretty fucking busy person and I will fucking use your absence as an excuse to execute all of you!”

Not even 30 seconds passed when Glenn, Ollie, Terri and Nicola made their way to the room, all of them muttering some sort of apology. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

“I don’t give a fuck if you were in the loo or what is more likely, gossiping.” He said as he glared at Terri and Nicola. “Now, I wish to know why the fuck am I here and fucking make it quick, I’m actually starving.”

“Not ill.” Said Glenn.

“What!?” he said as he looked to the left at Glenn.

“Oh, nothing, nothing.”

He stared at Glenn a bit longer, and then changed his stare to Nicola, impatient. “Speak up. I’m listening.” He reclined back, elbow propped up on the arm of the chair, as he played with a pen on said hand.

“Right, so. This is my idea for an initiative, yes.” She smiled at them and Malcolm raised an eyebrow at her, to urge her to keep going. “This is what I hope will be my policy, I’ve called it the ‘Fourth Sector’. It consists of...”

* * *

 

“So, how was it? What do you think?” Were the words that came out of Nicola’s mouth when everyone left but Malcolm.

It was mad, whatever she wanted to do and he could tell that it was fucking four a.m. stuff because he couldn’t understand a bit of it. Not even a scrap. He was a smart person and if he couldn’t understand it, what would the stupid public understand?

“Good, good.” He finally said as he nodded slowly.

Her eyes lit up. “Really!?”

He snorted. “No.”

She put a hand on her hip and lowered her head to massage the back of her neck tiredly.

“You know, the problem with the ‘Fourth Sector’ initiative is everything. Where the fuck are you going to get the funding? Because let me tell you, you peace-loving cheesecake, money doesn’t grow on trees. If it did, would I be here listening to your mad ramblings? The answer is a rotund fucking no.” He stood and gathered his folders and went for the door, before he closed it, he turned to her. “You better fucking drop it. It’s shit. I hate it and the public will hate it. They’re stupid but they’re not dead. They will make their hate known by... Oh, I don’t know... throwing fucking tomatoes at you? You’re lucky if you get off that easy.”

He left DoSAC as quickly as he could, but instead of going back to Number 10, he hailed a cab and left to Clara’s place. He had texted her that he would pass by her flat and she had agreed because there was still half an hour left of her break.

He paid the cab and was left alone, staring at her building. It was dangerous to be out and about when he was still supposed to be working, even if it was just for a half an hour so he quickly let himself in and soon enough, he was knocking on her door.

Clara opened it with a smile and immediately jumped on his arms. He staggered back a little and held her against him as best as he could with one arm. “Careful, you could ruin some government property.” He said as he bent a bit so her feet could touch the floor.

She blushed at her eagerness and opened the door wider for him to come in. “By that, you mean you?”

“Apart from me.” He stepped inside and made his way to the small table in front of her sofa as she closed the door. He put his folder on it then rushed to hug her from behind as she stood on her tip toes to reach the orange juice.

He lowered his head to kiss her neck. “Your fridge is fucking huge; bigger than mine. Why don’t you get a smaller one?”

She finally reached the orange juice and put it on the cabinet, then turned around on his arms. “Because I like big things.” She said suggestively and he gaped at her.

“Oh, I see how it is.” He smirked then lowered his head to kiss her properly. As they kissed, he had her pressed against the fridge, his hands cradling her face.

Clara broke the kiss and slowly peeled him away from her. “I’m not on the menu today.”

He smiled down at her. At this moment, he felt complete. He had a wild fantasy that this was their home and that was how he was greeted everyday by her every time he came exhausted from work. She would breathe life back into him just like this and he found out that he really wanted to make that fantasy true one day. “No, you’re not. What are we having?”

Clara led him by the hand to the sofa, where she had laid her lunch. “Chicken salad. Some healthy food to start you on the right course.”

He smiled at her in thanks but on the inside he was disappointed. He really wanted to have a pizza instead. The bizarre imagery of his arteries all clogged up by fat entered his mind and he decided that yes, Clara was right.

“Thank you for taking care of my health.”

She smiled cheekily at him but said nothing. They ate in silence, occasionally sneaking furtive glances at one another and he felt as he were back in school, checking out the girl he liked but making sure she didn’t saw him. As he sneaked another glance at her, his pale blue eyes made contact with her chocolate brown ones and she actually giggled.

“Caught you!” she declared triumphantly.

“Au contraire; _I_ caught you. You were sneaking glances at me. I felt them.”

“Liar!” she said as she pointed at him with her fork.

“I’m fucking not.”

She laughed. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, young man?”

“Aye, ain’t got another one.” He said with a shrug.

When they finished and it was only just fifteen minutes for Clara to go to work, she turned to him. “Have you called your friend yet?”

“Nah.”

“So call him! Go play tennis today.” He squinted at her as he slowly took out his phone, and she kissed his frown away. “Just do it, it’ll do you good.”

As she did the dishes, he called Carl Richards.

Carl Richards was another of the so called ‘spin-doctors’ and arguably the one person in British politics who was even more aggressive and unpredictable than Malcolm Tucker. They had hated each other briefly as they worked for different parties but when Carl was fired and replaced by Stewart Pearson, they came to an agreement to end the rivalry between them. As such, Malcolm occasionally went to picnics with Carl’s family and more often than not, they went to play tennis. There, they would gossip and talk about politics as they played.

With the call done, they had agreed to play tennis exactly at five, which meant that he had to be out of work by 4:30. Not a problem, at all.

He informed Clara of this and she beamed at him. “That’s awesome. Now when you get home you can send me a picture of you with your gear on.”

“It’s not that impressive.”

“Do you have knee-high socks?”

“Obviously not!” he dialled a cab and offered to take her to the coffee shop in the same car. She agreed.

When they had to part ways, he only nodded at her and she did the same, but she understood that displays of affection weren’t to be had, not until he was ready to offer them, and she wouldn’t push him for it. She understood that he was a very private person and she would work with it, there was no other way around that.

* * *

 

Later at seven, once he got to his place, he plugged both his phones to their respective chargers and waited until his Iphone had enough battery so he could turn it on. Phones weren’t as they used to be. Now their batteries drained faster and he loathed it. He understood that it was because of their applications and other nonsense, but he still complained about it. He was Scottish; he knew how to complain about things. He took a picture of himself wearing his tennis clothes and then sent it to Clara.

His bones felt like jelly and suddenly getting up from the bed seemed to be very difficult indeed, but he forced himself to do so because he was way too sweaty to go to bed like that.

He unlaced his trainers and threw them aside along with his socks and went straight for a long shower. Preferably one that would make him feel younger because right now, he felt every single one of his 49 years and it didn’t feel good. He had pushed himself too far, but the effect of it, he only felt it as he was driving home because as he played, he didn’t feel a damn thing.

Shower done, he walked to the kitchen and downed almost all his water gallon, then went to his bedroom to chug down his pill. It wasn’t the first time he chugged it down without any water. As he got himself more comfortable in bed, he remembered his Iphone and took it from the nightstand, only to see two messages from Clara.

\-----

_Well, hello! I wish I had you as my tennis coach. Lovely thighs, although the shorts were not as short as I would’ve liked. And is that a tight long sleeved shirt I see underneath the sleeveless white shirt!? You should teach me tennis sometime!_

_-Clara_

\-----

_Just don’t have a stroke and if you’re feeling up to it later on, you can visit._

_-Clara_

\-----

He was too tired to even type a reply, so he called her. She took a while but eventually picked up.

“Malcolm, hello, everything alright?”

“Yes.” He yawned. “I’m just not going to visit you today. I’m tired as fuck and my back aches.”

“Just your back?”

“No, every part of my fucking body. Even my hair aches.”

“Aw, my baby.”

He snorted. “Far from it. Just called to say that. Didn’t want to leave you waiting.”

“Me? Wait for you? I don’t wait for anybody.”

“Sure, Clara.” He teased.

“I can tell you’re very tired and very sleepy so I bid you goodnight, Malc.”

“Okay. I love you, woman. Don’t sneak any men into your apartment while I lay comatose here.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Mainly because I don’t think I could find anyone more handsome than you.”

“Thanks for stroking my ego.”

“Or a man with such a big tool.”

He knew which ‘tool’ she meant. He chuckled at that. “You haven’t stroked that one yet... anyways, good night.”

“Love you, have a good night.” She said and hung up.

He was actually grateful that he wouldn’t have one of those ‘hang up, no, you hang up!’ arguments. Someday, they wouldn’t even say that. They would instead cuddle close to each other and he would wait for her to fall asleep so he could follow her into oblivion.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo..I know I've been absent for a while, really busy with IRL stuff but I haven't forgotten about this! Unfortunately, due to my busy schedule, the chapters wont be as long as the other ones, but still, the quality will remain the same. Anyway, hope you enjoy and thank you for the lovely comments in the last chapter!

The first thing he did the next day was go to the bathroom then check his coat’s pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. Not once did the voice of Clara resonated through his mind telling him to quit, instead, it was his own. He knew he had to quit, in fact, he had researched about doing that but he didn’t read them, he bookmarked them and always told himself he would read them later. They had been bookmarked for roughly a week or so.

He had gone without it for four days, starting when he went to see Clara. It was fucking difficult to leave something his body craved and he was surprised he hadn’t started to feel the symptoms of withdrawal early on. Not that it would be noted, some of the symptoms were insomnia –which he already had and fixed with a pill, anxiousness –that’s something he felt nearly all the time but it didn’t went overboard, irritability –no difference there, among other symptoms. But today, it got harder and he couldn’t fight it any longer. He wanted to smoke and he damn well would.

He stepped outside of his apartment, reclined against the railings and lit a cigarette. He looked at the glowing red embers and twirled it about on his fingers, then sucked in a lungful of it. When he exhaled and watched the cloud of smoke dissipate into the air, he felt calmer and a wee bit more focused on the day ahead, which was something he didn’t know he needed.

When he finished, the edge of smoking had passed and he went inside to make himself some coffee and watch the news.

He was no longer hungry.

Despite not being someone who smoked regularly, he still had his smoke-hours. Which were mostly after going for lunch -when he went for lunch, sometimes in the morning, and at some point before getting out of work.

Did it leave a bad taste on his mouth? Hell fucking yes, but he didn’t minded at all. Apparently Clara did, so he could either smoke and brush his teeth afterwards or stop smoking as she said… it would be hard but he could do it. He had the discipline to do such thing.

He prepared his coffee with more milk than he was used too and dumped three spoonfuls of sugar then sat on the sofa to watch TV. He heard his phone ring in the next room and stood up with a grimace to retrieve it.

As he walked towards his bedroom, he took some of the clothes he had on the floor and carried them with him to put them by the foot of his bed, then picked up the phone.

\-----

_Nicola didn’t drop the project. She wants some studies/tests/investigations/shit to be done. Should I do something?_

_-Glenn Cullen_

\-----

He rolled his eyes and wrote a hasty reply.

\-----

_Fuck. Just keep me fucking informed. Don’t tell her I know._

_-M._

\------

He was going to tell Glenn to not text him work-related things since it was Saturday but he had never had any qualms about that, so why start now?

Right now his body ached as well as his brain. He hated it when people went against his wishes. He didn’t say or do things because he wanted to fuck people up. He did them because he specifically didn’t want them to fuck up. Apparently, that was something those fuckers still couldn’t understand.

Even though Nicola was way low on his lists of candidates for the position, he had hoped her inexperience would lead her to be more cautious and seek advice from the more experienced ones. Alas, that was not the case. She was creative, stubborn and fucking reckless. She meant well but there are some things in government you simply cannot do and he needed her to wrap her head around that concept.

Taking advantage that he was in his room, instead of texting Clara as he would, he called her. He would call her from now on, it seemed more personal and he could actually hear her voice instead of imagining.

“Hello, hello. You’re up earlier than usual.” Clara said in a sleepy voice.

He smiled at that and laid down on his bed, a groan escaped him. “Well, remember, I fucking went to sleep earlier last night. And it’s just six in the morning. I slept a lot. Did I wake you up?”

“No, no.” she answered fast… perhaps too fast. “Well, yes, I was hoping to sleep until noon.”

“Oh. Not going to apologize for that.”

“Dick.”

“Aye.” He had notice that lately, his vocabulary was infiltrating hers. Either she was a bit reserved initially and now that they knew each other a bit better she was letting go or he was influencing her a bit. He didn’t mind either way.

“So tell me about tennis. Are you good at it?”

He snorted. “I’m the fucking best. Against Carl that is. But to be a bit modest here, he’s better than me, he runs the whole fucking space and I… do try to keep up.”

She chuckled. “Is there any chance of me seeing you playing anytime soon?”

“I fucking hope not! I am in pain, woman. I am even aware of the weight of my fucking fingernails.”

“Let me propose you something.”

“I’m listening.” He replied cautiously.

“Tonight, at my place or your place, you give me a massage and then I give you one, how does that sound?”

“Eager to get your hands on me, are you?”

“When you’re whining about being in pain, then yes.”

“I was not whining, I was stating the facts.”

“You were whining, admit it. Anyways, yes or no?”

“Hmm.” He bit his lips as he thought and he heard her huff.

“It’s a yes. My place, because I bet yours still looks like a dumpster.”

Yes, that much was true. He hadn’t bothered to pick up the bag of chips that still sat on his coffee table. “It looks like less of dumpster. More like a recycling facility.”

“If you say so, mister.”

He snorted. “What did you do last night?”

“Some side work and a video call. Some guy wanted to set up a web page for his company so I was talking with him and other people. It was oddly exciting.”

“Could you live off of that?”

“If I dedicate it more time, yes. But I don’t like staring at a screen for longer than two hours.”

“Hmm, good, good. I should get some fucking glasses. I’ve noticed I have to strain my eyesight more lately.”

“Oh, nice. Now that’s something I’d like to see.” She laughed as she finished that statement and he scowled.

“People who use glasses use them because their eyes are fucking shit. They’re broken, they don’t work anymore as they used to.”

“You’ll look a bit more professional.”

“Excuse you, I look professional enough.”

“You do… but that’ll add a touch.”

He chuckled as he opened the drawer of his nightstand to get out his journal and as he perused the dates and today’s date, he could feel his soul leaving his body. He had forgotten it was February 14th.

“Holy motherfucking shit.” He whispered.

“I’m sorry, is something wrong?”

“Yeah, I  will call you later. I received some… sensible fucking information and I have to deal with it accordingly.”

“Well, okay. Talk to you later.”

“Right.”

He hurriedly hung up and stared a bit longer at the date. By the information he had gathered, there was a concert nearby in a hotel, the clothing etiquette was semi-formal, so that was alright with him. The trouble was that he hadn’t gotten any tickets. He’d have to call in some favours to get some tickets because as he had heard, it was completely sold out.

He had made his calls and had gotten two tickets for Clara and himself in a front table and the price he had to pay to get them wasn’t that high. By the look of things, it seemed as if she didn’t expected him to do anything, even when he had said he would do anything for her this day, but she had only asked him come to her place for a massage. Such a nice girl, indeed.

He set up to clean his place and when he said clean, it meant clean everything, every single reachable and non-reachable surface. He stopped when it was almost ten and went to the bathroom to get showered.

As he washed his hair, he noticed that it already covered a bit of his ear, which meant he had to get a haircut… or he simply could cut it himself… He dismissed that idea as quickly as it came. Once he had been in such a hurry that he did it himself and he had messed up his hair quite a bit. _Never again_ , he thought.

The need for a haircut meant that he had to ask Marco for one and he really didn’t wanted to do that because Jack was living there as well. He felt the changes when he could hear Jack singing or the music at an incredibly loud volume; he could not tell them to shut the fuck up because it was basically his idea. An idea he dearly regretted.

* * *

 

Malcolm was writing a text for Clara to bring something nice in a bag, wanting to keep the whole concert thing a secret from her. Either she was as clueless as he was or she didn’t care for such things?

 _Nonsense, women live for that sappy crap!,_ he rolled his eyes at himself as soon as that thought formed on his mind.

Clara _may_ live for that sappy crap but she hadn’t made it clear to him. As he stared at then tickets in his hand, it seemed to little a thing for her. She deserved more than that.

Knocking loudly on Marco’s door, he waited, slightly impassive. When Jack opened it, he practically smacked the tickets on his the man’s broad chest.

“Early Christmas gift or whatever, I have no use for them.” He was returning back to his apartment when Jack caught up with him.

“These are for today! What happened with Clara?”

“Nothing happened. Just that she deserves more…so I’m going to give her more. I’m going to take her to France for the weekend.” Malcolm replied smugly and opened the door, a clear sign that the conversation was over and that he had better things to do. Like booking flight tickets and the hotel.

“Malcolm, Clara doesn’t care about grandeur. You can take her to Tesco and she’ll have the time of her life.”

“Well, I’m competing with that other guy, forgot what the cunt’s name is, so yeah, I can’t fucking slack. Plus, it’s fucking Valentine’s Day, right. Needs to be memorable.”

“Fine…take her to the south of France…she always wanted to go there.”

Jacket clapped him hard on the back and left him alone to do what he had to do.

* * *

 

Suit case made and tickets in hand, Malcolm made his way to his car. He had left his house keys with Jack and Marco, just in case he lost them. Now all he had to do was to stop in the shop she worked, explain the situation to her boss and done.

Would she be mad that he made such a decision for her? He fucking hoped not.

Hoping he got lucky with Clara’s unpredictable moods, Malcolm stopped by her work, explained that he wanted to take her on a romantic getaway for the weekend and her boss was more than eager to let Clara free for the weekend. Apparently Clara didn’t like to have many days off and was always asking for more work. He shook his head at that, typical Clara.

Once at her apartment complex, he let himself in and knocked on her door. He fiddled with the collar of his dress shirt and straightened his shirt, which had been creased as consequence of him sitting down.

“Come on in!” He did and heard Clara’s voice again. “I’ll be with you in a bit, I’m getting dressed!”

“You’ve got nothing that I haven’t already fucking seen!” he yelled back and heard her rich laugh, which filled him with gross amounts of happiness.

Malcolm loved her laugh and just to be imprudent, he tiptoed to her bedroom and stuck his head inside. Unfortunately for him, Clara was already dressed and combing her hair.

“Ah, fuck. Thought I would see your bare ass and you’re already dressed.”

“I’m pretty fast.” She said and smiled when he came and hugged her from behind, kissing the top of her head.

“I’ve missed you.”

“You always miss me.” She replied cheekily as she laid her hairbrush down and he snorted, swiftly turning her around.

“True, now pay up.” One of his hands cupped her chin and his thumb traced her lower lip. His intent was clear, he merely wanted a kiss.

Clara smiled and pulled him closer, already standing on the tip of her toes. “What’s the magic word?”

“Pretty please?” A silver eyebrow rose and his mischievous blue eyes were bright and playful as he looked at her.

“Good.” She said softly and he bent his head to meet her lips, eager to feel them on his once again but Clara stopped just a breath short of kissing him. “You’re so eager, Malc.”

“Shut up.” He pressed forward and kissed her, eyes closed as he savoured the sensation, memorizing how her soft, plump lips felt against his thin ones. He wondered if she liked his lips. Sure, he knew his lips left more to be desired but he prided himself in knowing how to work with what he was given. Judging by her slight moans and the way she played with the curls at the back of his neck, he would say that he was doing a pretty good job.

Clara broke the kiss with a smile but still held onto him. “So…Jack said you had a surprise for me.” She started playing with the buttons on his shirt and he groaned, throwing his head back, exposing his neck to her as he looked up to the ceiling.

Clara wanted to kiss that tantalizing neck but she knew that he was merely looking at the ceiling to organize his thoughts.

“That fucking cunt can’t keep a secret.” He sighed and looked at her as he bit his lower lip. “Well, I…I’m going to take you to the south of France. It is my knowledge that you always wanted to go there so you’re going to finally go there…with me, for the weekend.”

She let out a gasp and her hands went to her mouth as her big eyes looked up at him, tears already forming in them.

“Oh, no, no, Clara, please, don’t cry. I just wanted to make you happy. But if t makes you this sad I can-” He said nervously, stumbling for words and she hugged him tight, a couple of tears escaping her eyes and he hugged her, thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand...are you happy or sad?”

“You idiot!” She beamed at him as she wiped away her tears. “These are tears of happiness! I’d never thought you’d do something like that; I mean, your job-”

“Can wait.” He took hold of her shoulders and looked at her. “I left someone else temporarily in charge. This weekend it’s just going to be you and me, get it? No work, nothing that reminds us of London, just us, yes?”

“You’re willing to do that? For me?”

The fact that Clara didn’t think or had hopes that he would ever throw aside his work in favour of  her broke his heart just a little bit. It made him realise that he was making a lousy job of letting her know just how much she had come to mean to him in these short weeks. Yes, he would do that and much more. But everything at its own time.

“No, I just _really_ need some vacations.” He replied sarcastically and she punched his shoulder softly.

“You think you’re so funny.” She stuck her tongue at him as he acted offended, hand on his heart and all.

“I _am_ so fucking funny.” Clara couldn’t help but laugh at him and he smirked. “See? There’s the proof. Now, pack your fucking bags, plane’s leaving in an hour.”

She breezed past him to her closet and he sat on the edge of her bed, to watch her as she packed.

“I could marry you right now.”

Malcolm smiled and shrugged. “Let’s do it. Let’s get married on the most clichéd day ever.”

She blushed and nodded. “You’re right. It’s rather clichéd and not like you, at all.”

“But we can do it.” He argued and she looked at him, surprised. “I’m serious. Let’s get married. Fuck it, let’s fucking do it. Let’s drag two strangers to be our witnesses and let’s get married.”

“In France?”

“Yeah, just the two of us and those strangers. We come back here, throw a party and then tell everyone that we got married and it’s actually a party celebrating that.”

She snorted as she kept packing and raised an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t even asked my father.”

“I don’t need your father’s approval, I need _your_ approval...what do you say?” He gulped as his right hand clutched his thigh tightly. As for a reply, he really didn’t need one because Clara was on him the moment she had processed his words, kissing him deeply.

“It’s spontaneous and I really want to marry you so...let’s do it.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Got a bit of a writer's block, however, here's another chapter and I'll upload the epilogue when I can! It's been fun writing this since I've never written anything so long...thanks for staying through the bumpy ride and long wait!

They spent most of the ride to the airport holding hands on the back of a cab and giving each other sly, loving looks that even the cab driver noticed how much they were into each other. The driver opened his mouth to speak but upon looking through the mirror and noticing that it was Malcolm Tucker the guy he was driving to the airport, he shut his mouth quickly.

If he had been another cab driver he would’ve snitched on these two, but seeing how happy they were, he elected not to do so. Still, he looked at them every time he had the chance. They seemed really in love, more the girl than him, to be honest. Though he figured that the older man wasn’t one to be displaying affection openly, however, he did smile at her a couple of times and his eyes softened when he looked at her.

They were an odd pairing, that was for sure, but not even he could deny that they complemented each other in a strange way.

* * *

 

“You’re taking too long, woman, let’s just fucking go.” Groaned Malcolm as he laid in their bed in the hotel, hands on his face as he massaged his eyes, trying not to fall asleep.

They had checked-in at the hotel and Malcolm wanted to go straight into town and to a few small shops he had seen on the way to buy her a ring but Clara had insisted on taking a shower and put on something nice, which was ridiculous because she already looked very nice.

Apparently she didn’t think so.

Right when he was about to open his mouth, to once again, complain, Clara came out of the shower, smelling of cinnamon and wearing a very cute but simple fuchsia dress with no sleeves and heels. He smiled at her when he saw her.

“What if we consummate the marriage right now?” he suggested hopefully as she approached him, finally settling between his thighs.

Clara ran her hands through his hair, smiling a bit when she saw his eyelids flutter close. “Just wait a few hours, alright? You will have me all for yourself soon.”

“What can I say?” His blue eyes gazed at her, glinting with mischievousness. “I’m a greedy cunt.”

Right then, he leaned forwards, arms wrapping around her waist as he pressed his cheek to her breasts. He said nothing; he just held her and breathed in her scent.

It all seemed too surreal. It was finally going to happen. He was going to get married.

The emotions he was feeling were starting to become too much. He took a steadying breath and pulled back.

“Think we should go. We have a ring to choose.”

* * *

 

“It’s too much, Malcolm. I want a simpler one.” Clara crossed her arms over her chest as she bit her lip.

Meanwhile, Malcolm had the ring in his hand and was looking at it, ignoring her comment. Yes, it was too much but she deserved it. She was worth more than all the gold in the world but this was a small thing he could use to show her just how much she meant to him.

To hell with the price, he could afford it and besides, all those diamonds would look beautiful on her damn hand.

“Clara, for fuck’s sake. It’s beautiful, I saw you looking at it. You obviously fucking like it.”

“It’s not that...it’s just...it’s too expensive and-”

Malcolm took her hand, effectively stopping what was no doubt going to become a rant and put the ring on her fourth finger. It slid in effortlessly.

Malcolm cupped the side of her face and locked his intense eyes on hers. “This is going to be your ring.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’. This is my gift to you. You’re going to accept it because you like it and because you love me.”

She snorted softly and seemed to be relenting. Clara looked down at her hand to find her ring glinting in the light and nodded softly.

“Alright. It’s really beautiful.” She hugged him, her head pressed against his heart and she smiled. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Next, they settled for a simple gold band that complemented hers and he put them both in the same cushioned box, paid and left.

Clara was still clinging to his arm as they walked around, occasionally pointing at houses or restaurants they could go to, always smiling brightly at him. It never ceased to amaze him how happy he made her. He was still a cantankerous, old bastard and she knew this but despite his many flaws, she still saw the best in him.

* * *

 

“We need witnesses, Malcolm.” Clara said as she filled the papers necessary to get married and Malcolm sighed. He knew they needed witnesses but it somehow didn’t registered fully until now.

He scratched the back of his head as he looked around. Out of the building they were in, there was a young couple eating ice-cream, laughing at something one of them said and Malcolm tapped Clara on the shoulder then jerked his head towards them. “What about them?”

“Sure. I mean, anyone, really, we don’t know anyone here so anyone’s fine.” Clara ushered him away.

He stopped in front of the young couple and cleared his throat. He was now the picture of humility; no one would’ve associated him with the velociraptor of Downing Street.

“Excusez-moi, parles-vous anglais?”

“I do, but she doesn’t.” Said the guy, who had a rather strong German accent.

“Oh, excellent! Listen, my name’s Malcolm and my girlfriend and I sort of decided to get married today. Thing is, we don’t have any witnesses. Would you care to be some strangers’ witnesses?”

While the guy translated Malcolm took a deep breath and waited, finally the guy nodded. “Alright. That should be fun. Weirdest thing we will do today, that’s for sure.”

“Great! Let’s go. Quick!”

Malcolm nearly jogged back to the building with them in tow and Clara laughed, “I can’t believe this, honestly.”

“It’s all fine. I’ve done worse things, to be honest.” Malcolm said and Clara chuckled, shaking her head at him.

As they waited to be called, they struck conversation with their witnesses and discovered that they were actually boyfriend and girlfriend and while the girl was French, the guy was German and they had met because he was an exchange student in her university.

Malcolm’s hands were sweaty, his throat dry and when it was their turn to be married he felt as if he would pass out. Clara, on the other hand, was unaware of his sudden nervousness.

The papers were already signed, the rest was merely a formality, so when it was time to say the vows he took a deep breath. He could’ve used the conventional vows but they were worth so little to him, he wanted to speak to her from the heart. No secrets, no more undermining his feelings...he would let her know who Malcolm Tucker really was and what he felt for her.

Taking her hands in his he took a deep breath. “Clara Oswald...” his voice sounded way too deep to him, regardless, he continued, “You came into my life in the most unexpected way. In these short weeks you’ve taught me how to live, how to behave and...how to love again.” He felt a knot on his throat and his eyes watering but with a few steadying breaths, he continued. “If it weren’t for you, I’m not sure I would’ve taken so many precautions to take care of my health, to be honest. I...can’t imagine a world without you...and I’m happy to be tied until death do us apart to someone so unique, so fucking amazing and so bloody kind like you...Clara Oswald, I vow to protect you, take care of you, cheer you on your endeavours and love you until I die, yeah? I could’ve said this with better words but this is all I can muster right now...I’m sorry if it’s not enough-”

“Oh, shut up.” Clara told him and grabbed him by the lapels of his suit, “You adorable man.” She kissed him deeply and for such a long amount of time that someone had to tap her on the shoulder to let the poor man breathe.

Malcolm in turn, was red in the face. There were at least five strangers looking at him and he felt very embarrassed.

“I think that answers the question I was about to ask.” Said the French official and Malcolm chuckled.

“Can we go now?” Clara asked excitedly. “Just get to the important thing and officiate the marriage right now. Please.”

Malcolm looked at her in confusion, an eyebrow raised, but when he saw the way she looked at him, as if she wanted to devour him on the spot, he understood why she wanted to rush things.

With a smirk, he looked at the official. “You heard the boss.”

* * *

 

For as long as he’d been alive had he never experience such a rushed wedding. At one point, he started to regret how spontaneous things had gone but then one look at Clara’s happy face let him know he was being an utter tit. She was happy and that was all that mattered. It wasn’t perfect but she was happy and that was enough for them both.

Opening the door to their suite, he let her in first and turned to close the door.

“So, I was thinking we should-”

Clara interrupted him by pulling him down by the lapels of his jacket and kissing him hard on the mouth, her tongue forcing its way past his lips to play with his.

Malcolm groaned into the kiss, his hands settling on her hips as he responded in kind. Slowly, his hands slid down her ass, where he gave her a gratuitous squeeze, and then he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his narrow waist as her arms wrapped around his neck.

He broke the kiss but he still looked longingly at her, his lips merely a breath away from hers. “What’s this sudden burst of horniness, Mrs Tucker?”

She explained, enunciating every word with a kiss. “Because I love you and because I’m bloody tired of waiting. So fuck me now, Tucker.”

He smirked, his eyebrow raised. “I’ve completely ruined your vocabulary.” He said, but nevertheless, started kissing a path along her jaw and down her neck as he set her down on the bed.

He pulled back long enough to get Clara’s shoes and his jacket off, then kept kissing her, his cock getting harder every second they spent making out.

“Too many clothes.” Clara moaned as he sucked on his nipple through her dress and he agreed. Making quick work of their clothes, soon, they were naked and Malcolm blushed, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at her, just lying down in bed, aroused as ever.

“Come now, Malcolm. We’ve been over this.” She told him, she knew he was a bit self-conscious of his body. “We’re married and I pretty much desire you. Come here.”

She opened her arms for him and he relented, settling on top of her, his forearms supporting his weight. Clara took hold of his face and started kissing every line, every wrinkle she could find. He didn’t understand why but he closed his eyes, just basking in her affection.

“Feels good?” She asked as she threaded her fingers through his hair and he smiled.

“Aye, feels really good. You make me feel twenty years younger.”

“Silly man _and_ such a cliché thing to say.” She muttered as she started kissing his neck, wanting to get him in the mood again. It didn’t take long before Malcolm started moaning as she kissed his neck and he caressed her side.

Then his hand slid down her abdomen and she diligently parted her legs for him as they kissed. He smiled when she did that but said nothing, merely kept kissing her as his fingers parted the lips of her pussy and she shuddered slightly as he gathered her wetness in his fingers and started circling her clit.

“Oh...”

He hummed and licked around her nipple before taking it into his mouth, sucking on it softly as she tugged on his hair. He gave her other breast the same treatment and his fingers went lower. Now at her entrance, he slowly pushed his index finger inside her, then another and within a few seconds, he had her writhing underneath him as he balanced himself on top of her with his other hand on the bed.

He was aware of three things: the sounds she was making, how wet she was and how painfully hard _he_ was. Regardless, he continued, he had to show her a good time and not blow his load too quickly inside of her or worse, cum in his pants like a teenager. He wouldn’t live that down if it happened.

He started kissing her neck and sucking on it and Clara was clawing at his shoulders. As he started circling her clit with his thumb she arched her back.

“Oh, just keep doing that, oh yes.”

“You like that, baby?” Malcolm asked her and she moaned.

He smirked against her skin and began kissing a path down her breasts but she pulled him up, her eyes bright with lust.

“You’re going to fuck me now or so help me, Malcolm Tucker, I will detach something from you.”

“But I-”

She groaned and turned him over. Now on top of him, Clara grinned triumphantly down at him, her hands finding support on his taut chest.  

Defeated, his hands settled on her hips. She had won. He didn’t even have the energy to fight her, he could take his sweet time whenever he wanted, which was a thought that brought a smile to his face.

“What are you smiling at?”

Malcolm traced her bare hips with his weathered fingers, then her stomach, and finally, he held onto her breasts, rubbing her nipples until they were pointy. He shrugged.

“You’ll have me however you want me tonight…but tomorrow…and the next day and the next, I’ll fuck you however slow I want.”

“Whatever you say, Malc.” Clara leaned down and he met her halfway, his fingers delving into her hair as they kissed. Slowly, she started stroking his cock and while he was distracted by the sensation, she sank into him and he went momentarily stiff, his eyes opening as a gasp escaped his lips.

However, what caught him unaware was the look of pure bliss on Clara’s face. That look alone was porn actress worthy and if he told her, he was certain that she would divorce him in a heartbeat.

Malcolm threaded his fingers through her hair reverently and slid his hands down her shoulders, over her breasts, until they settled on her hips. His rough fingers caressed her sensitive skin as he looked up at her.

Clara looked so beautiful, so ethereal…and she was his. The thought made Malcolm smirk at her and he pulled her down to him, and then flipped her over. Now on top, he caged her between his body and the mattress.

“I was going to let you take charge but I fucking can’t.”

“So you want to have me beneath you…”

“Yes.” He gulped and took her hands in his, raising them above her head and pinning them in place with his left hand.

Clara chuckled and wiggled a little bit; just because she was trapped didn’t mean she would sit still for him.

“Clara, please.” He begged her and she stopped. Breathing a sigh of relief, Malcolm took his cock in hand and stroked it a few times, knowing Clara was watching. With great effort, he aligned himself and entered her swiftly and confidently, like an experienced NASCAR racer driving at 120mph during rush hour in NYC.

Clara immediately wrapped her legs around his waist as he, agonizingly slow, started thrusting into her. Unsurprisingly enough, no moans escaped him, but he was breathing heavily, just as she was. He leaned down to kiss her, since most of his weight was being supported with his right arm, he laid a bit on top of her as he kissed her, and his thrusts stayed the same.

* * *

 

Clara had to move away from his thirsty mouth, she was starved for air, the sensations were too much. His cock moving deliciously inside her, while his chest rubbed her nipples in the most amazing way, add to that the light pain she was feeling around her wrists from his grips and his kisses now traveling down her neck, biting, licking and sucking and she was in heaven.

As Malcolm kept kissing her neck, he released her hands and she moved them to his hair, pushing him down towards her breasts.

“I can take a damn hint.” He said as he started paying attention to her breasts, kneading them and sucking on her nipples, occasionally delivering a soft bite that would make her breath hitch and her spine arch.

Feeling herself getting closer with the steady thrusting of his hips, she pushed him up and said, “Go faster and deeper or so help me, I’ll take charge again.”

Not one to back down from a challenge, he simply raised a silver eyebrow at her. “Hold onto the headboard.”

She scoffed at him and he laughed, “I see.”

Malcolm stood and dragged her to the edge of the bed as Clara made a surprised noise. However, she was quickly silenced when he immediately rammed back in inside her, his hands gripping her hips tight as his hips snapped back and forth in quick succession.

Her breasts were bouncing with the force of his thrusts and she held onto whatever she could get her hands on, the pillow, hell, even the bedding, as Malcolm grinned down at her.

“How do you like that now?”

To her, it sounded as if he was far away as she was diving into her consciousness, surrounded by the pleasure he was giving her as she bit her lip to try and keep her moans to a minimum.

Malcolm moved his right hand and started rubbing her clit to make her cum and as he felt her contracting sporadically, he doubled his efforts.

“M-malcolm, oh god.” Clara started clenching the bed sheet as Malcolm pounded into her.

“Just Malcolm.” He retorted with a bit of difficulty, “You feel so fucking good, Clara.”

As he concentrated on fucking her and rubbing her clit, without a warning, she came around his shaft and Malcolm hissed as her pussy gripped him tight. In turn, she bit her lip and let out the sexiest moan he ever heard and he knew that he was doomed, he knew it with certainty.

Whatever she want it, she could get it just by moaning like that. A few more thrust and instead of cumming inside her, he pulled out and came on her stomach as he gave himself some final strokes, then laid besides her. His chest and cheeks were red from the workout, making his eyes look a clear blue and she laughed and shook her head as she looked down at her stomach.

“Sorry for cumming on you. Remembered I didn’t have a condom on.” He sounded too apologetic, with his raspy voice and unruly hair making him look far too appealing to her.

Feeling naughty, she reached down to her stomached, coated her fingers in a bit of his cum, and then brought them to her lips, sucking them clean while he stared at her.

“Salty.”

Malcolm just stared at her, at a loss for words. As she sat, smiling from ear to ear and stretched. Looking over her shoulder once she was halfway to the bathroom, she said, “Better get ready for round two because I want to suck the life out of you.”

Malcolm felt his cock stir in interest, but he needed at least half an hour to get his affairs in order.

 “Yes, Mrs. Tucker.”

She blew a kiss at him but not without rolling her eyes first. He really was a silly guy, but he was _her_ silly guy.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, folks. Thanks for sticking with this story while I wrote it. Now it finally finished. Hope y'all like it!

**_Three years later…_ **

 

Malcolm strode through the halls of DoSAC, phone in hand as he read various emails. He had gone recently away for a trip to the states, business as per usual. Many things had changed in the span of three years but DoSAC had the same personnel it had three years ago. They had gone from being Shadow Cabinet to the Golding Inquiry, which gave him quite a headache, to being in charge again. It felt good to be back but he was getting tired of it all. The kindergarten politics, incompetent staff and PM, he was at the end of his rope but still, he held on. He wasn’t really a quitter.

He put his phone back in his pocket when it beeped again and with a huff, he took it out as he rode the lift.

\----

_From: Sam Cassidy – Assistant to Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ _[_scassidy@gov.org.uk_  ](mailto:scassidy@gov.org.uk) _]_ _

_To: Malcolm Tucker [mailto:_ _[_mtucker@gov.org.uk_  ](mailto:mtucker@gov.org.uk) _]_ _

_Subject: Trouble in Paradise_

_Hello, Boss:_

_Nicola just said something very controversial on TV while on her Live interview at DoSAC. She basically said that gay couples may not be good teachers. You can imagine the outrage on Twitter and other social media forums._

_I’ll be arranging her funeral._

_Sam_

\----

Malcolm calmly read the message as he chewed his lip, once done, he pocketed his phone back in his pocket and held onto the railing of the lift. His life had made a 180° turn and he had painstakingly learn how to deal with his frustration but this…this was too much.

“Fuck! Fucking Steve fucking Flemming, bloody useless sack of fat!” He yelled in the lift while he repeatedly kicked the door, waiting for it to open on the third floor and when it did, he stormed out.

“Steve! Steve!”

“What is it?” , asked Steve as he hurried towards Malcolm, his face also contorted in anger but it was nowhere near the level of Malcolm’s anger.

“I leave for a week and fucking come back to this fucking shit show now, what the fuck?”

“I’ve been minding the shop!”

Malcolm scoffed and put his hands on his waist, “Oh, you were fucking minding the shop and what happened? A bunch of fucking school kids came in and fucking dropped their trousers and fucking had a shit in aisle five!”

“It can be fixed, Malcolm. Nothing a little bit of spinning won’t fix”, Flemming raised a hand trying to placate Malcolm but he waved him off.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Nicola just killed all of us. Its 2017, you think people will let that go? We’re lucky if they don’t fucking throw glitter at us when we leave this fucking building…”” He started pacing and scratching the back of his head, “Jesus, and spinning this…it was fucking live, not like it was on a fucking newspaper, I’m fucking done.”

“Sorry, I’m not keeping up. Surely you don’t mean-”

“I’m fucking quitting. I’m fucking done…so much stress…I’ve got children now, you know, and I’m not going to fucking stick around here any fucking longer. I haven’t seen them in a while. All is work, work…I’m done.”

He had succeeded to make an escape to Number 10 without anyone from the press hounding him, which was good, he still hadn’t made an statement and written his resignation letter. Not half an hour later and his face was plastered on the TV as he announced his resignation, the public was shocked but everyone wanted to know who was in charge. He merely shrugged and wished them all a nice day as he walked away and hailed a cab. No one dared to follow him; after all, he was no longer a public figure at the moment, but a private citizen.

* * *

 

“As I was saying, _Pride and Prejudice_ is a-”

Danny sticking his head through the doorway made her pause, and she looked at him expectantly, “Yes, Professor Pink?”

“You really should go to the staff room and watch the news. I’ll watch the students, just go.”

“Alright, everyone, respect Professor Pink!” she stopped as she was about to pass him and put her hand on his muscular shoulder, “if they give you any trouble, feel free to write their names down so I can call their parents.”

Despite having sent her CV to the Oxford University, she hadn’t received any calls from there so the next best thing that came was being a teacher in a High School. She soon learned how to deal with hormone ridden teenagers and the rest was history. She had learned she had been accepted as a professor two weeks ago after she had returned to London as a newlywed and had aced the interview.

In those two weeks, Malcolm had been in a hurry to move away to the new house he had bought 5 hours after they had landed. It was a beautiful two stories home, with four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a huge kitchen, dining area and living room. What she liked so much about it was that it even had a garage and backyard. It was everything they needed to raise a family.

Not long after starting her new work, the news of her pregnancy caught Malcolm and her off-guard. Thankfully for her, the school provided her with an assistant during those months and then a one year leave after she had given birth to two beautiful twin boys.

Arriving at the staff room, she saw Malcolm talking and she had never seen him so at peace with his destiny as he was now. He was talking calmly and as eloquent as ever as he relayed the news of his resignations and the reasons.

“I want to spend more time with my family, my beautiful wife and my two boys, Callan and Ezra. They’re two years old and I barely get to see them…this job has taken a lot of me, a huge chunk of my life. I’m ready to take my life back and be present in their lives which is why I’ve decided to quit. And to the public I say, question everything. Investigate. Don’t get caught in the web of spin masters like me.” With a smirk, he left and the focus was back again on the reporter but Clara couldn’t hear anything. She was shocked.

She hurried to her classroom, and continued the class. She couldn’t wait to get home, question him and kiss his stupid face.

* * *

 

“We’re not going to watch Peppa The Pig again. I won’t have it.”

“Please, daddy, please!” Callan look at him with big eyes and as he looked down at Ezra, the boy was fast asleep on his chest.

He had gotten home and only took off his suit jacket and tie, paid the babysitter and stayed taking care of the boys. So far, they had seen five episodes of that horrendous pig. The boys had inherited his kinda curly hair and bluish eyes. In fact, they looked more like him than like Clara, which in Malcolm’s opinion was a shame, because she was clearly the better looking one of them both.

Still, he knew the boys would heartthrobs; Clara’s DNA mixed with his was a force to be reckoned with.

“Alright, alright, come here, ya little troublemaker.” Callan smiled and cuddled into Malcolm as he clutched a small blanket and once again, Malcolm was forced to watch that fucking pink pig.

That was how Clara found them when she got home. Peppa Pig playing in the background while he three boys were dozing off in the sofa. Malcolm’s head was thrownback as he snored softly, and the boys were cuddling him on each side. She took a moment to look at Malcolm and at the man he had become. His hair had gotten longer and due to his tight schedule, he hadn’t bothered to cut it. He currently looked like a magician, curls everywhere and their children had grown so much…she was a bit bitter that he had missed most of their two years of life but everytime he came home late, he would pass through their children’s room and kiss their foreheads, then give her  sloppy kiss and just lay down to sleep like the dead. She was glad he was finally free.

Taking her phone camera, she snapped a picture and leaned over him to kiss his cheek.

He blinked and tried to talk but she put her finger over his mouth. “The kids are sleeping. Let’s take them upstairs.”

With the kids tucked safely in their beds, she beckoned Malcolm to their bedroom and he closed the door behind himself then sat on the edge of the bed as Clara took of her shoes.

“I know this might have come as a shock to you but I think it’s the right thing to do. I want to take a few months away from working. I can afford it, I want to take care of our sons, make you dinner when you come home…spend time with you…I’ve been a lousy husband and I’m sorry, I just wanted to provide the best of the best-”

Clara tilted his face up and kissed him, silencing him for a few seconds.

“And just like that I’m forgiven?” His arms circled her waist as he hugged her, his face snuggled between her breasts.

“Nearly.” She ran her fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp. “You’ll be completely forgiven after you give me at least three orgasms. Right now.”

Malcolm chuckled and looked up at her, his hands already bunching up her skirt.

“Yes, boss.”

 

**The End**


End file.
